


Captive Audience

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor [51]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7202627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes diplomatic endeavors don't end in a treaty. </p><p>Meanwhile, there are plenty of little dramas to be had on a starship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“What’s our ETA, Mr. Dulles?” Deanna asked. 

“Twenty-two hours, sir.”

Sighing, she stared at the main viewer, as if the distorted view of stars as they traveled at warp six would tell her anything. She glanced at the panel on the right arm of the captain’s chair, and changed it to a readout of status updates on the engines. 

The sound of the turbolift doors preceded the arrival of the captain; she had known he was on the approach, having sensed him just moments before, concluding the meeting with Amy’s teacher. The meeting had been scheduled, the visit to sickbay preceding it had not. She stood and stepped away from the chair, and he came to stand facing her.

“We are on course and arriving in twenty-two hours at Devaris Seven,” she said. “How is the ambassador?”

“Greg said he’s fine. Apparently he was having an anxiety attack, not cardiac issues,” Jean-Luc said. He did not smirk, or smile, or otherwise show the amusement he felt. It was the grim sort of amusement he reserved for times when they had been blessed with someone who had been put forth as indispensable, an asset to the mission at hand, yet the individual in question turned out to be eccentric at best. Ambassador Kredis had eccentric written all over him -- Deanna was happy that Kredis had never met her mother, otherwise she might yet have had a very annoying stepfather to contend with as well as Lwaxana’s exuberant non-conformist behavior.

“I suppose we shall have to learn from our mistakes.” Deanna sat down in her place, as Jean-Luc sat in his.

“I didn’t realize at the time that open discussion of the Devarins would be panic-inducing. So, yes, indeed, we will learn from our mistakes.”

Deanna rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I know,” he said almost under his breath. “It wasn’t that, exactly.”

“Not everyone can be a Starfleet officer, Captain. Kredis was instrumental in the talks with the Cardassians and the Breen after the Dominion War, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to be calm about walking into the conflict between Devaris and the Klingons. Your description of your own experiences with the Klingons didn’t help.” It had been a progression, actually; Kredis had shown anxiety at the mention of the war, and it had increased somewhat over the course of the conversation, but mentioning the Jem’Hadar had set off a full panic.

“I suppose not.”

“It’s nearly fourteen hundred -- I have a group of cadets gathering in holodeck four. If you’ll excuse me, Captain?”

“Of course -- what’s the simulation today?”

Deanna walked up the ramp to the back of the bridge. She exchanged a brief look with deLio, standing at attention at his post. “Phaser rifles and how not to shoot your own team.”

“Have fun ducking and dodging,” he shot back, as the turbolift doors closed behind her.

 

\----------------------

Woodrow Kredis sat in his guest quarters flicking poker chips at a cup in the middle of the low table in front of him, as he slumped on the couch. 

“I suppose it’ll work out,” he said.

Admiral Garrison chuckled. It was almost eerie, how someone so many sectors away could sound as though they were in the room. “I realize you haven’t worked directly with starship captains much, Woody, but Picard’s by the book for the most part. I haven’t spent much time with him in person but one of the things I’ve learned from talking to people who have -- he’s predictable. Intelligent, rational, seasoned in diplomacy and favors talk over fighting. You’re only going to run into problems with him if you push something that violates regulations.”

Kredis plunked a chip in the cup, sent another skittering across the table, flicked another one too short and bounced it off the edge of the cup. “He makes me nervous, Phil.”

“In what way?”

“The way he talks about encounters he had with the Klingons -- he was Gowron’s arbiter of succession, he was Worf’s cha’Dich -- the Klingons know him. That’s a bias.”

Garrison laughed again, and he could almost see the admiral shaking his head. “It’s an advantage, when it comes to the Klingons. Having him along will make it much easier, believe me. You won’t have to fight to get respect from them.”

“If I felt as though he were on my side, that might not be such a bad thing.”

“What makes you think he isn’t?”

“He’s so superficial and polite. Almost standoffish. I may not have worked directly with many captains, but the ones I’ve met weren’t so formal. Not what I would expect from someone who’s got such a reputation with the Klingons.”

Not to mention the casual way he talked about the Klingon weaponry, the battles fought -- the taste for glory. Picard had talked about the enthusiasm of Klingons he knew as they went out to the front lines of the Dominion War. All it had taken was a mention of his friend, Ambassador Worf, the Federation ambassador to Qo’Nos, who had spent time in Jem’Hadar captivity -- just the word, Jem’Hadar, had triggered the memory of his own time in an internment camp, after an unsuccessful attempt to negotiate with Weyoun before much was understood about the true nature of the Dominion and the Founders. 

And with the memory came the anxiety. 

Kredis took a deep breath, shaking off the beginnings of anxiety, setting all that aside quickly.

“ -- manage fine,” Garrison was saying. “You should sit down with the man for dinner. Off shift. See if you can get him to talk to you about his family.”

“What good would that do?” Another chip went end over end from his fingertips, whirling down into the cup. 

“You’re the one who thinks he’s superficial. I spent time with one of his former officers -- Riker was his first officer, for years. He has a lot of respect for the man, but there’s also a great deal of personal sentiment there -- you might have better success understanding him if you see the off duty side of him.”

“Maybe I should just talk to his current first officer. She seems approachable enough.”

A lengthy silence -- then Garrison sighed. “You didn’t spend a lot of time looking up service records for this one, did you?”

“I was pitched on a transport, dumped on a starbase, and picked up by the Enterprise a day later -- I’m busy researching what’s been given to me about the Devarin, and brushing up on Klingon -- starting from scratch, actually, as I’ve never had much to do with them in the first place. When have I had the time? No, I haven’t looked at their service records.”

“Well, you’re probably safe enough, in spite of that. But you should have a look at their hands, before you approach the commander.”

“What for?”

“The good captain is a traditionalist. He got her a ring, and his matches it. Be careful not to get too interested in her -- she’s also an empath, she’ll be quite tactful and ignore anything you might feel, but I think you might find your chances at casual friendliness with either of them decrease radically if you get too explicit about it.”

Kredis flipped the last chip from his hand. It bounced off the far edge of the cup and arced beyond onto the carpet, rolling in a half-circle to disappear under the chair.

“Woody?”

“Thanks for the help, Phil. I’ll be fine, I think.”

As long as no one mentioned the bloody Dominion again. 

\------------------

Deanna waited for the cadets to leave before exiting the holodeck herself. This crop would be with them for another four months, and she guessed that some of them might be good officers if she could get them to relax and do the work without all the joking around and the flirting. 

She strode down the corridor about a dozen paces behind the young men and women, most of them human from colonies and Federation member worlds all over the quadrant, and suppressed a smile -- Brody Rios was not unlike a very young Will Riker, though much greener than she’d ever known Will to be. He had a smile that he knew very well could get him plenty of attention, and the braggadocio might tone down over time, with experience and the acquiring of actual confidence in himself. 

“You should come tonight,” he wheedled, but his target, young, blonde and voluptuous Gloria Wilder, shook her head and grabbed her friend’s arm, veering away and walking faster. Brody threw up his arms as if appealing to a higher power, over-dramatic in his usual way. “Aw, come on!”

Deanna sidled right to walk around him and leave him there to talk to the ceiling. Unexpectedly, he turned to her and smiled, looking her in the eye. “You’re coming to the recital, Commander?”

“I’ll be there,” she said, giving him the superficial smile reserved for officers she didn’t know well.

“Oh, thank goodness, at least someone will be there,” he exclaimed, smiling. His black hair and thin moustache complemented his dark complexion and the broad smile -- he would be lethal, in a decade or so, she estimated. 

“Are you afraid no one will come? The events in Ten Forward are generally well attended, when there are no red alerts.” She kept walking toward the lift, as the last five of the gaggle of cadets entered a turbolift car and the doors shut.

“I was just hoping someone familiar would be there -- performance anxiety,” he said. The sheepishness and a little shrug gave him a boyish appeal. 

“The captain and I were planning to be there. We invited the ambassador as well.”

The lift door opened, and of course, in he came along with her. He bounced on his toes and asked for deck twelve. Deanna asked for the bridge. 

“You’ve been aboard a long time,” Brody began. 

Longer than you’ve been alive, she wanted to say, but she looked at him instead of watching the flashing indicator show how many times the lift changed direction as it sped along. 

“You’ve seen a lot of officers come and go. What’s the secret to staying?”

Deanna had to stifle the amused smile tugging at her lips. Straightforward was her strategy with the cadets. She never teased them the way she might one of the higher-ranked officers. “Do your duty, and then some. Have the dedication to the principles of the Federation that any good commanding officer must have.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

She had had this from him before. While it was usually left to the preferences of the female officer, most defaulted to ‘sir’ until corrected. She had corrected him once, so this was deliberate deviation, and since she sensed well enough what he felt behind it, she understood why he would be emphasising her gender.

The lift opened and she stepped out onto the bridge, leaving the cadet behind. She nodded to deLio as she went by and, noting the empty center chair, angled left to the ready room. He was alone, she sensed, and so she went in without announcing herself. 

Jean-Luc was already rising to go replicate her a cup of tea, and came back with it as she took a seat in front of his desk. “Casualties?”

“It was less abysmal than the last group we had. Some of them are excellent marksmen, in fact.”

“I’m still working through the one-on-ones. Any diamonds in the rough?”

“If Rios can stop letting his testosterone poisoning get in the way, he might have a decent commanding officer’s swagger.”

The unexpected bark of laughter caught her off guard, as she picked up the cup he had set on the edge of the desk for her. “He’s managed to irritate you. That says something.”

“Did you invite the ambassador tonight?”

“I did mention it, when we were in sickbay.”

“One of the babysitters is in the quintet. Cordelia asked this morning if she could go with us, to hear Azalea play her flute.”

“Only Cordelia?”

Deanna smiled, thinking about their children, all the differences between them and how it could be complicated figuring out activities that suited the entire family. “Jean-Pierre doesn’t show any interest in music, as much as he goes along with your attempts at flute lessons. Yves has interest but also has a big project to complete for science -- procrastination is still a challenge for him. Amy has a dance lesson, with Lieutenant Simmons. She wants to see if she likes tap -- credit Beverly with that deviation.”

“Then I suppose Cordie will be coming with us.” Jean-Luc smiled warmly at the thought of his younger daughter. 

“I heard from Worf,” she said. “He said he has someone he would like you to meet.”

Jean-Luc nodded thoughtfully. “I was thinking it was strange, that he hasn’t contacted me -- we are supposed to be meeting with him, after all, prior to the first meeting with the Devarin.”

“He has such mixed, strong feelings about us. The last time we saw him was Will’s wedding, wasn’t it?”

“Who do you suppose it is he wants us to meet?”

“No, he specifically said you. The only thing I can think is that he must have met someone, and might be getting married again. One of the things he mentioned to me at our wedding was that he wished he could have had his friends from the Enterprise at his, when he married Jadzia.”

Unfortunately, it put Jean-Luc in a pensive ruminating mood, likely thinking about all the loss in their lives, including his own. “I don’t think I ever heard how it was she died,” he said at last. “Something to do with the war, I would suppose.”

“She was praying in the Bajoran temple when a Cardassian gul shot her. They were attempting to conceive, as I understand it, despite all the difficulties of Trill and Klingon incompatibilities.”

The flicker of distress showed in his eyes, at that. He knew the agony of such losses well enough. She sensed the echo of remembered distress.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That was how Worf felt, telling me about it. As brief as that conversation was, it was a difficult one. He’s never been a talker.”

Jean-Luc stopped himself before whatever he was about to say emerged.

“You were about to ask how I -- “

“No, I really wasn’t,” he exclaimed, holding up his hands in surrender.

Deanna sipped her tea and smiled at him. “We go for hours without talking, some days, you know.”

“Only with pharmaceutical intervention.” 

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, and moved on, rather than confronting his ridiculousness in the ready room. There would be time for that later. “Are you almost ready to go?”

They returned to the bridge, where he saw the watch passed along to Natalia, who would be on beta shift. “I can go to Ten Forward and get the kids,” she said as they rode the lift homeward.

“I’ll get dinner going, then, have it ready when you all come home.”

She watched him leave the lift on deck six and rode on to deck ten on her own, arriving in Ten Forward to find the children sitting around one of the tables with their padds. Ambassador Kredis was there as well, by himself, and he raised a glass to her. Kredis was a hybrid, like her, but an unusual one -- Romulan-human, raised by his human mother on a Federation colony. He was, so far as she could tell, mostly human. She suspected the slightly-pointed ears would have led others to suspect Vulcan ancestry, but he also had faint ridges above his eyes. 

She crossed to the children’s table after giving the ambassador a brief smile of acknowledgement and as she approached Amy turned and grinned up at her. “Maman, look, I didn’t even ask Yves for help,” she announced, holding up a padd full of completed math homework. 

“Excellent, good job,” Deanna exclaimed, putting a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “Jean-Pierre, what is it?”

“I hate spelling,” he grumbled, sinking in the chair. At seven he was starting to show signs of surliness -- Jean-Luc had confided that this reminded him of Robert, and expressed concern that it meant jealousy, as was the case with his older brother when they were boys. But Deanna couldn’t sense anything that led her to suspect rivalry. Their younger son was just grumpy, so far as she could tell.

“I tried to help him,” Cordelia exclaimed, shrugging. She held up her padd for inspection. 

“Bring your work, it’s almost time for dinner. Come on, I’ll check it after we eat.”

She waved to Guinan and herded the kids toward the door, a hand on the back of each twin’s head, following Amy and Yves as the older two started to talk about wanting to learn how to play baseball. 

Deanna glanced at the ambassador as she went out the door. He was watching her go. The children had surprised him, but now he was simply curious in a benign way. 

The kids mobbed their father, as usual, and he greeted them all with hugs and had them set aside the padds to go wash hands. While they were all down the hall in their bathroom, fighting for the sink, Jean-Luc came to Deanna, and kissed her enthusiastically.

They parted at the sound of a shriek, and he took a few steps to tug at Cordelia’s arm. She’d frozen in place with her hands over her eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Amy asked, coming out behind her sister. Yves squeezed past the girls and had a look that said he knew exactly what they had been doing.

“I can’t wait for them to start developing empathy, too,” he said, clearly tired of explaining things.’’

“You’re going to get used to your mother and I, at some point, you know.” Jean-Luc herded the girls toward the set table. 

It was nice to have a well-trained husband, Deanna thought, watching dinner unfold -- Jean-Luc cajoling Amy to try a new vegetable, scolding Jean-Pierre for his poor manners, chatting with Yves about his project. Deanna smiled to herself and ate slowly while he presided over the conversation. She reached over to run her hand over Jean-Pierre’s dark wavy hair, leaning to kiss him on the scalp and rub his shoulder encouragingly, projecting warmth and love just as her grandfather always had. It was so far as she was concerned the best thing about developing telepathy. Being able to send as well as receive had been a great help in assisting the children in understanding what she was trying to teach them.

Jean-Luc roused the troops to clear the table, and Yves gave Deanna a kiss on the cheek as he took her empty plate and utensils. 

“Your mother and I are going to the recital,” Jean-Luc announced. “I know you have a project, Yves. You’ll be here doing that. Do the rest of you want to come to the recital?”

“I have my lesson,” Amy said. “I need to go put on something else.”

“I wanna,” Cordie exclaimed, dancing back to Papa from the corner where she was petting Fidele, waiting quietly for permission to rejoin them after the meal. “I want to come, Papa.”

“Go change into something that isn’t torn,” Deanna said, noticing a rip in Cordie’s skirt. She tended to rough house with the other children at recess. 

She charged for her room, beaming. Jean-Pierre watched her go, his slight frown concerning. He glanced at Yves, turning from the replicator where he’d recycled the last of the dishes, and shrugged. 

“I’m going to change while Jean-Pierre decides,” Deanna said. She went through the office into the master bedroom and took out a few dresses, and smiled -- she sent a telepathic instruction to Cordelia, and put all but one of the dresses back in the closet. When she returned to the living room, hair redone in a cascade of curls from a tightly-done hair band on the crown of her head and wearing a pink dress that she knew Jean-Luc enjoyed seeing her wear, she found Yves at the table with his padd, a small kit with which to assemble a model of a molecule, and Jean-Luc watching him take out rods and spheres. His head turned when Yves stared, and he grinned broadly upon seeing her. 

“Oh, no,” Yves sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“At some point in your life, you’ll -- “

“Find someone to feel that way about -- I know, Papa,” Yves exclaimed. “Can I have something for my headache?”

“Come on, Cordie,” Deanna called. Her little girl emerged with her sandals dangling from her left hand and wearing a pink dress that nearly matched her mother’s, at least in color. It didn’t have the sash over the shoulder. 

“Absolutely everyone else at the recital will be jealous of me,” Jean-Luc exclaimed, setting off a happy grin from Cordie.

“Let’s go -- what did Jean-Pierre decide?”

“He’s going to finish his reading assignment in his room, and play a game til you get back,” Yves said. 

“The recital shouldn’t be more than an hour, maybe an hour and a half. We’ll be back soon.”

Amy came out wearing some pants and a shirt, and carrying tap shoes she had replicated earlier. “I’m supposed to meet them in holodeck two,” she said, walking out with her sister and her parents.

They rode in the lift together and Amy left it on deck nine. The corridor outside Ten Forward was busy. Cordelia clung to her father’s arm and Deanna followed them in. 

It was as all recitals aboard the Enterprise had always been. The quintet had adopted Brody Rios because of his talent, obviously, as he was clearly the best musician among them. He played the oboe with the same proficiency he had with a phaser, or a bo -- she’d seen him in the karate class one of the lieutenants led. Deanna sat with her husband in the front row, paying more attention to him -- Cordelia was leaning on him, almost sliding out of her chair, and he had an arm around her. He had to keep reminding her to listen, not talk, because she kept whispering to him -- commenting or asking questions. 

At the end of the Quintet in E flat major for Piano and Winds, Cordelia leaped from her chair and clapped wildly, while the rest of the audience applauded from their seats. She bounced forward and went to hug Lieutenant Kelley, and Azalea put down her flute to reciprocate. Brody looked on with surprise. 

Deanna smiled as Cordelia ran back to them, coming to lean against her and cuddle with her mother. “She did really good, didn’t she?”

“She did. You really enjoyed the music, too,” Deanna said, leaning to kiss Cordie’s forehead. “Maybe you should think about learning to play an instrument.” 

“I could ask Lieutenant Kelley to teach me how to play her flute,” Cordelia exclaimed. 

“What about Papa?” Deanna ran her fingers down Jean-Luc’s sleeve. “I thought you liked his flute.”

“I’ll learn that too. Papa, when are we having another lesson?”

“How about tomorrow after school?” he said, smiling down at her and letting her cling to his arm. 

Deanna glanced up -- she sensed the cadet as he approached, and found herself on edge. Around them the audience was dispersing rapidly. Rios smiled at her. “Good evening, Commander.”

“An excellent performance, Mr. Rios,” she said. She looked at Jean-Luc. “Captain, this is Cadet Brody Rios. I don’t believe you’ve met him yet.”

Rios bowed slightly, instead of coming to attention. Perhaps because he was out of uniform he felt that protocols could be relaxed.

Then again… she supposed she was leading by example. 

“Thank you, for an enjoyable performance,” Jean-Luc said. He glanced at Deanna. “We should go.”

Rios backed away as they rose and led Cordelia toward the exit. Cordelia hummed off key and held her father’s hand, as they headed down the corridor.

{ Is something wrong? }

Deanna followed Jean-Luc into the lift and stood aside as two more people entered. She greeted them softly and asked the computer for deck six. She knew Jean-Luc waited for an answer, but she didn’t have one. Nothing was really wrong. 

It took a while, to get the kids to bed -- Amy came home and went without needing direction, smiling wearily and promising to show off what she learned in the morning. Deanna got ready for bed, putting on a short silk nightgown. 

Jean-Luc came in and tossed his jacket on the back of the chair at the dressing table. “You don’t like Rios, do you?”

Deanna sat on the corner of the bed and continued to brush her hair. It took a lot of work despite having had quite a bit of it trimmed off and thinned out, just last week. “He’s not so appealing to me, no.”

“Is there some basis for that?”

“It’s just a personality clash. His performance so far has been good -- he completes assignments, he gets along well with his peers. He follows orders without hesitation.”

Jean-Luc sat next to her, turning and reaching to take the brush from her. She shifted to face away from him as he started to run the brush through her hair. “But he bothers you.”

“Who does he remind you of?”

“So, you’re saying he reminds you of someone you don’t like?”

“Not….” Deanna closed her eyes and enjoyed the feel of having her hair brushed, of his fingers being drawn through her hair -- he ran his hand from the nape of her neck through the curls, enjoying that almost as much as she did. “He reminds me of Will, only younger and less experienced than when I met him.”

“Oh, I see. You don’t want to see him breaking hearts right in front of you?”

She pulled away, stood up, and caught herself -- being amused by how his words upset her effectively dissolved the anger. “Listen to you, being so insightful.”

“You don’t let me get away with anything, why wouldn’t I return the favor?” He held up the brush. “Let me finish?”

“That depends on how you want to finish.”

He glanced down at himself, still in uniform from the waist down. “There are a few options, aren’t there? Perhaps I should take the rest of this off?”

“Do you need any help?”

“Now that you mention it, I do feel quite weak and in need of assistance.”

She smiled and slowly lowered herself to one knee on the floor between his feet. His boots were easily removed, and once she’d peeled away the socks she rubbed his feet, pushing thumbs and fingertips in. 

He sighed.

Deanna stood up on her knees and started to unfasten his pants. “You seem to have something in here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He was so good at deadpan, but the cheesy grin ruined it. 

“Maybe I should get the doctor,” she said, sliding her hand in. “It feels like it could be something serious.”

He started to laugh at her, as she tugged at his pants and worked them off of him. He fell back on the bed and let her finish. When she came up to crawl up the bed and hover on hands and knees over him, he opened his eyes, and the bond became palpable.

“I love you,” he said.

“I’m going to make you say that again.”

“I’m -- “

She heard it too, turning her head a split-second after he did -- a thump on the wall. She was off the bed and at the door in a few seconds, leaning into the office as the door opened. Yves, wearing his red pajamas, was kneeling at the bottom of the bookshelf, a finger at the control panel on the generator.

“I broke it,” he cried. 

“Let me put on a robe.” She headed for the closet, glancing at her naked husband. “I don’t suppose you have a pause button?”

He started to laugh, and sat up, shaking his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Yves is panicking and the generator is probably just turned off. I’ll be back in a minute.”

"Damned empaths," he grumbled, as she tied her robe and headed out to fix the problem, so their son could go back to sleep without having his parents' emotions giving him another headache.


	2. Chapter 2

Kredis strolled into the briefing room and accepted the first officer’s offer of coffee. He watched her go to the replicator and bring it back to him with a smile.

“Thank you, Commander,” he said with a polite echo of her smile. 

“I didn’t see you at the recital last night,” she said.

“I came in quite late, but I was there. You have talented crew, I must say. Mozart in the hands of competent musicians is a wonderful thing.”

Her dark eyes appraised him -- he wondered if she were doing more than looking. “Ambassador?”

Kredis considered, and decided to take the plunge. Nothing ventured, after all. “I have to say, Commander, that I had my misgivings. I’m not accustomed to working directly with Starfleet officers.”

“I’m familiar with your history,” she said. Now her eyes, and her smile, turned sad. “When you had the issue yesterday, I suspected trauma. I want to -- “

“I’m aware of your work with trauma, your history as a counselor,” Kredis said. He waved the coffee vaguely, dismissively. “If you’re about to offer me free treatment, I appreciate it, but I won’t be taking you up on it. We need to focus on the talks.”

Her eyes went glassy, her mouth now a straight line. “I understand.”

“As I was saying, I appreciate that I was assigned to work with you and your captain. You have a good reputation when it comes to diplomacy.”

“I hope that we live up to that reputation.” She glanced at the door -- and then there was the captain, closely followed by the L’norim, then the second officer, Edison. 

Kredis sat when invited, listened to Picard tell his officers that they would be meeting the IKS Gowron within the hour, and Ambassador Worf would be joining them for the midday meal, to discuss the following day -- when both ships would be in the Devaris system for the talks. 

“Mr. deLio, have we received any information on the location of the talks?” Picard asked.

The L’norim raised his head and looked at the first officer. It was interesting, how the officers on this vessel would track both the captain and first officer, when conversing with one of them. “I did receive information. The Devarins have indicated that we will meet on one of their orbiting space stations.”

Picard seemed to think that was a problem. Deep creases in his forehead, as he gazed down the table at his security chief.

“There’s a likelihood that this is racism,” Kredis said. “The anger at the Klingons is rooted in their religion. The Devarin are negotiating that barrier between the irrational clinging to old ways deeply embedded in prejudice and self-aggrandizing pride, and emerging into the larger galactic community. Portions of the Devarin population are proponents of expansion and treaties with other species, based on the idea that it will bring them into a new age of prosperity. The religious leaders are more interested in keeping the population isolated from the pollution of other ideas, other religions, other people. Which is not, of course, the stated goal -- preservation of ancient tradition, is what they call it. No doubt keeping the aliens -- not just the Klingons -- off their home world is the underlying reason for it.”

“One of the other forms of slavery,” Troi said, half to herself.

“Commander?” Kredis asked. She hadn’t seemed to him to be very involved; most of the two meetings she had been present in, she had listened more than spoken. She raised her eyes from her coffee and again, Kredis wondered if she weren’t scanning him. Telepaths were unnerving, that way.

“Time after time, religious and political leaders exert control by withholding information. It’s how civilizations rise and fall. The truth becomes currency, and the wealthy control the poor.” Troi brought her hands up to rest her forearms on the table. She had a weary expression, laced with disgust. “Betazed didn’t have such a long reign of power plays. Having telepathic citizens does not make it easy to control them with secrecy and lies.”

“It would be easy for them to make the case that the Klingons are violent and dangerous,” Picard said. “Because they are. So are we all, in the right circumstance.”

“I wouldn’t have expected to hear you say something like that,” Keller said. The counselor hadn’t said much either. She smiled at the captain, in a polite, formal way. 

“Would you like me to withhold information so you can continue to think we’re never going to be in battle again?” Picard asked.

Troi sighed, and appeared to be trying not to smile. 

“In any case, what I am gleaning from the information provided by Starfleet is that the Devarin government contacted the Federation via the Kornikos -- the Klingon Empire is not expanding by way of violence any longer, as that would violate the Federation treaty. But they are pushing along the Devarin borders and the Devarin have been pushing back -- the incident that brought us to this was a skirmish, between Devarin vessels and a Klingon warbird, over a system along the Klingon border.” Picard glanced at Kredis.

“I was surprised, when I read the report -- it sounds as though the Klingons reacted with incredible restraint,” Kredis said. “I would have expected, given what I’ve learned about them, that the battle would have ended with the destruction of the Devarin.”

Picard nodded slowly. “The Klingons have their own… negotiation, to manage, between the past and the future. As Federation members they are obligated to do as we do, outside their empire. As we all know, that has not historically been the practice. At least we have one factor in our favor -- Ambassador Worf is a known quantity. He already trusts us.”

“I have a feeling it won’t be so simple as we want it to be.” Troi’s quiet words were like a stone in a still pool -- the senior staff went as still as statues, looking at her, and the implication wasn’t lost on Kredis. 

“What do you mean, Commander?” Kredis asked.

She stared at him with wide, black-on-black eyes. Unexpectedly, she smiled. “What else can you tell us?”

He wavered, thinking about what the admiral had said. He thought about last night, watching Picard with his daughter at the recital, and the fond expression Troi had watching them. He glanced at Picard’s face -- the man was watching him expectantly, though he was starting to question, judging from the slight tilt of his head and a new calculating expression in his eyes -- and decided. All in.

“There is a reason to suspect that agents of the Dominion may remain,” he said.

If Troi’s words had been a stone, his statement was a boulder -- Edison swayed back in his chair, the L’norim blinked and gazed at Kredis as if he’d found new prey, the counselor sat up straighter and her now-frightened eyes darted to the captain for reassurance. Troi merely continued to smile at him. Again, he wondered how much she read from him.

“What agent of the Dominion are we referring to?” deLio sounded calm as he had each time he spoke. One had to understand that the slightly-inflated cheek sacs were the real indicator of the anxiety of a L’norim.

“There have been reports of a vessel that emerged from the Bajoran wormhole, that did not respond to attempts to communicate, and before Starfleet vessels could pursue, cloaked itself.” Kredis took a breath, trying to settle his stomach. “The vessel was last seen on a heading that would put them in this region of space. There was a brief encounter in the next sector that confirmed their heading, with the USS Potemkin -- the ship was found in a star system, at impulse, for some reason, and would not respond to hails. It armed weapons and Captain Shelby fired, causing some damage to their weapons and shields. It then went to warp again and cloaked.”

Picard glanced at Troi, and she was off, heading out to the bridge. The captain frowned, leaning on the table, tapping his forefinger on the glassy black surface as he looked at nothing. Then he straightened and glared at Kredis. 

Before he could speak, Kredis continued. “I can understand why you would be upset, Captain, that I hadn’t told you this before. I was given the information by Admiral Garrison. I spent a good deal of time yesterday after speaking to the admiral trying to determine the possible identity of the people on this vessel -- they don’t react in ways that would lead us to believe they are actually Jem’Hadar.”

Kredis paused, inhaling slowly, setting the immediate reaction aside -- it was easier when he was prepared for it, rather than having the reminder dropped into a conversation. It was getting better with every mention of the Dominion, he told himself.

“The Jem’Hadar have not been seen since the end of the war,” Edison put in. 

“We already know what happens when a tyranny ends, and the puppets are suddenly left to pick up the pieces,” Picard said, his tone dark and his eyes burning. “Often the bullied will become bullies, and any weaponry or other tools left out for them to use is taken up as well. That’s played itself out in the Beta Quadrant, for the past thousand years or more. And the Devarin are close enough to the edges of Randra space, that they very well could be paranoid for very good reasons.”

Troi returned then, and all eyes followed her to her chair, where she sat and turned to her captain. “Elisabeth sent what she had in the way of sensor data. She’s within an hour of us, at transwarp. She was about to head for a long patrol along the border, but she’s delaying, to be within range of a distress call, if we make one.” Kredis didn’t catch himself before he reacted to it -- Troi’s head turned, and she gave him a look of resigned ire. “This is not a time to assume anything. The Devarin may have requested our mediation, and expressed interest in the Federation, but that means nothing if they are already talking to some Gamma Quadrant species.”

Kredis laughed, which resulted in surprised looks from all of them. 

“You didn’t think we would take you seriously,” she said, as he subsided. “And then we jump to conclusions, you think. But we’ve seen a Beta Quadrant species attempt to take control of Cardassia, well within the Alpha Quadrant. Not what you would expect given all the worlds in between that might also suit their needs.”

Kredis nodded, then shrugged. “I would not accuse you of jumping to conclusions. I hadn’t expected you to believe it might be an issue, actually. I expected you to think there was nothing to worry about. There is, after all, no indication that ship was headed here.”

“Oh, we have plenty of experience with the impossible, the unlikely, the improbable, and the non-issue coming back to kill us,” Edison said. 

“Or, sabotage, destroy, annoy, or simply delay us,” Troi added.

“Or to board the ship and try to eat people, that one hasn’t been tried in a while,” Edison said. 

Dr. Mengis, who had been silent throughout, chuckled. Dulles, the helmsman, glanced at him with a grin. 

“It’s fair to say it would be difficult to surprise us,” Troi said. “We could elaborate.”

“Unnecessary, I think,” the captain said, in a crisp tone that brought the officers upright and back to formal. “Mr. deLio, since you have I presume enough information to plan for security, I’d like to discuss that with you. Ambassador, have you any other questions, or more information to provide?”

“No, Captain.”

“You are all dismissed.” Picard watched the officers get up and leave, and Kredis got up to follow Troi from the room. Out on the bridge, as he turned to climb toward the turbolift and escape, the first officer said his name. He hesitated, half-turning to look back at her.

“Do you have a moment, Ambassador?”

“Can we talk and walk?” He pointed toward the lift at the back of the bridge.

She came with him, and said nothing until the lift was under way toward the destination he chose -- Ten Forward.

“You have been extremely anxious since coming aboard,” she said. “I wanted to clarify that when I brought up your difficulties I was not offering counseling.”

Kredis put his hands behind his back, gripping his own thumb and forefinger tightly in an effort not to fidget. He’d been entirely too fidgety, in his first meeting with them. “I know. I was offered an opportunity to meet with you, and it was explained to me, what you are able to do. I refused. There are telepaths in the Gamma Quadrant who do not share your ethics, Commander. I have no desire to be exposed to that again.”

“I do not use telepathy, to do what I do,” she said softly. “Any more than I use it to sense what you are going through, just being aboard our ship. I could change the emotional impact within seconds, standing here with you, without causing you another millisecond of pain. However, I will respect your wishes.”

Another moment of uncomfortable silence later, the door opened, and he escaped the lift, hurrying down the corridor.

\--------------------------


	3. Chapter 3

“Dee,” Jean-Luc said quietly.

It made her aware that she’d fallen silent for longer than she’d realized, and that her fork was lying idle against the edge of her plate. She was staring at her untouched salad. She raised her eyes to meet his, and tried to smile. Worf was late, so they were dining together in the observation lounge, just off the bridge.

“I’m sorry,” she said, giving up on the food and settled back with her hands in her lap. 

“You’re making it hard to tell what I should be concerned about.”

“Oh -- “ She shook her head, bereft. “I’m just worried,” she said at last. 

“Is this something based on what you sense from Kredis? You’re not alone, in that.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something off about that man. I’m not even talking about his heritage -- he was raised in the Federation, he’s a citizen, never had anything to do with the Romulan Empire. He comes aboard, he holes up in his quarters, and when he does come out he appears to be so anxious that he seems almost distracted.” He paused, eyeing her, and continued after a moment of waiting. “And my usual resources are missing -- you haven’t said a word about him. You would have. Counselor Troi would have.”

She considered it, and nodded. “Do you remember what Admiral Adira said?”

Jean-Luc nodded. “Kredis spent time in an internment camp, after the starship he was on was destroyed. He was gone for more than a year, until he was rescued when the camp was dismantled by the Federation. He was in terrible shape. Six months later he was helping with the negotiations with the Breen.”

“He was referred to me, when he was recovered. He refused. Something he told me earlier makes me think he was tortured by telepaths.”

Jean-Luc was shocked by that, and spent a moment contemplating. “I was not aware that the Dominion employed telepaths.”

“There’s nothing that suggests that they ever did. But he’s afraid of me. Every time I look at him, he’s afraid.”

“Then perhaps I need to have a talk with him.” Jean-Luc shoved aside his plate and reached for his glass. “Is that all you’re thinking about?”

“I’m worried, I suppose.” She sighed. “It’s just… been so long. Since we’ve seen Worf. You know how he is, messages never tell you how he’s actually feeling. I haven’t heard from him in a long time, even. We’ve changed so much -- what if he’s changed in ways that will be difficult? He’s been on the home world for quite some time, now.”

Jean-Luc’s fond smile waned. “I suppose he might have changed for the worse, but I suspect he will have changed for the better -- he was always on a journey to find where he truly belonged. I think he was somewhat comfortable with us, but I had the impression that when the 1701-D was destroyed it was as though he became untethered. I wondered at times if being the only Klingon on a ship full of other species might be too difficult.”

“In his last message he told me he’s bringing Alexander. I -- “ Unexpectedly, she found herself almost in tears, and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Maybe you should go down to the gym. Throw yourself around the dojo for a while.” He knew what would make her feel better -- strenuous exercise had always been one of very few things that consistently made her feel centered and focused. There wasn’t anything he could do about her old, old grief at losing Alexander, long ago when Worf had taken him to Earth to be raised by the Rozhenkos. 

“The bridge -- “

“I think I can manage.” He smiled again, more the husband than usual, putting a hand on her arm.

So she went. Her dojo was empty this time of day, the cavernous room with benches around the perimeter, racks of weapons in the corners, and gray mats on the floor. After some stretches she ran through a series of kicks, warming up and loosening joints, preparing for a kata. There were series of movements in mok’bara designed to learn the use of blows and weapons in an organized fashion, but since Klingons were about battle, not competition in formal presentation of forms, there was no provision for kata such as the Terran styles of martial arts had. She had started to put together her own kata, with and without weapons, based on mok’bara. 

Deanna put on the blindfold she often used to increase her focus on her sense of her body and muscle movement -- while starting her kata she sensed that Jean-Luc was approaching and Worf and Alexander were with him. They were both apprehensive. She smiled and continued throwing kicks and punches, sliding and spinning across the mats. Perhaps meeting here in the dojo, where she had spent so many hours learning the early stages of mok’bara with Worf teaching them, would be a good thing. 

And then she sensed someone in the room -- it came to her then that Lieutenant Sweeney’s kenpo class had been this afternoon in the dojo across the gym, and that Rios was in it. That he was here, watching, bothered her. She continued to work, throwing extra energy into her blows at imaginary opponents, sounding off with a yell with each strike. 

She sensed Rios as he came out on the mats -- with a grim smile, she said nothing. Let him try. She sensed the jolt of shock -- perhaps he had not noticed the blindfold, at first. 

“Commander?”

Deanna stopped. Whipping the fabric band off her head, she stared at him. He looked skinny in a white gi with a round patch on the front. A black belt -- what else would one expect? 

“Cadet,” she replied sternly. “To what do I owe this interruption?”

Rios actually took a step forward. Before she could recover from the shock of recognizing what he was doing -- she had been wholly focused on her form, and purposefully blocking most of what she usually sensed -- he took another step and leaned in to kiss her. 

All her frustration with him came to a head, and her hand flew up and struck him across the face. Before she could loose the series of blows she’d been primed to deliver she grabbed the front of his gi and shook him.

“My marriage may mean nothing to you, but it means everything to me,” she snarled, then threw him backward away from her. He bounced to a stop, flat on his back on the mat, and gaped up at her. 

“S-sorry,” he stammered. “I thought -- “

“You thought,” she spat. “You did not think. Get out! Arrogant petaQ! If you focused on what you are here to learn, instead of proving how irresistible you are to any woman you want, you would have no difficulty whatsoever -- instead you get to go down in history as the only cadet stupid enough to try to kiss the captain’s wife!”

The idiot child started to laugh -- for a few seconds it infuriated her more, but it reminded her so much of starship captains she had known. He was feeling that peculiar blend of self-flagellation and embarrassment. It wasn’t so much amusement at her as it was at his situation, and his own ridiculousness, and it was a surprise to her. It disproved the assumption she’d made about his youthful arrogance. A true narcissist would be angry and direct it at her.

“You sound like a Klingon,” he said at last, with a guffaw. He sat up and then pulled himself to his feet, with a bounce. With a fist-to-palm salute and a bow, he backed away, angled for the door, and vanished without further commentary. 

Deanna put the blindfold back in place and started her form again with new vigor. She set aside thoughts of Rios and how he would be learning a few things the hard way over the next months and focused on herself -- flowing into the next blow, imagining the impact of her heel to a jaw, her fist to a ribcage. 

She knew when Jean-Luc arrived with her friends a few moments later, but kept working hard. Worf and Alexander were surprised, and continued to be, as she aimed a kick at a much-taller imaginary opponent’s head and landed lightly on her feet, only to drop into a sweep and rise into a lunge-punch. Another short series of punches and she stopped, took a deep breath, swept off the blindfold and turned to stroll over to greet them.

She’d forgotten how tall and broad Worf was, and Alexander shocked her by being taller than his father, now. She smiled at him proudly. “You remembered to eat your vegetables.”

He laughed merrily and leaped forward to sweep her up into a hug. She knew he was crying a little, and let him hold her tightly. When he let go she staggered back a step and threw her arms around Worf’s neck. Both were in Klingon armor, and Worf had an ornamental sash.

“It is good to see you,” he said after a moment of roughly hugging her. 

She had to pull her gi loose, where it snagged on his armor, and laughed as she did so. She turned to Jean-Luc -- he was sitting on the bench nearby, waiting with crossed arms.

“Who made you so angry?” he asked.

“What makes you think I’m angry?” She locked gazes with him for a few seconds, and knew well enough he had been aware in the usual way of what she’d been feeling.

“The captain told me you continued to make progress in mok’bara,” Worf said. “He said you are teaching now.”

“Oh, a little,” she said, backing away slowly, tugging her gi straight and tightening her belt. 

“A little,” Jean-Luc scoffed. “Computer, two opponents, Klingon.”

She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him. Two holographic Klingons materialized on the mats a dozen paces from her. She kept shaking her head and went to the weapons rack on the wall. “Computer, give them bat’leths.”

With her favorite bat’leth in hand -- she’d had it made from a much lighter alloy than the traditional weapon, so she could wield it more easily -- she went to face the holograms. She glanced at her friends. “You can join me any time you like.”

“Uh,” Alexander said, anxious. Worf crossed his arms. He wanted to see -- well, then.

Deanna whirled the weapon, left then right, and gave the nod -- the holograms came at her, roaring, and she let herself respond with the years of practice that made the movements instinctual. Since they were holograms she didn’t flinch from letting her blade do what it was designed to do. She was pulling the blade from the back of the first warrior as the second rushed her -- she dove and rolled and dodged, and let him pursue her while she brought the bat’leth in and angled it for the next kill, and as she drew him closer with another dodge to the right she lunged and drove the point past the warrior’s bat’leth into his ribs. It took another shove to drive it in far enough -- the Klingon toppled backward, tried to rise, and fell back and went still. 

When she returned to her friends she held up her weapon -- Worf took it, his brows climbing at the lack of weight in the weapon. “Impressive,” he said.

“Always the master of understatement,” Jean-Luc said, standing and coming over to tug on the shoulder of her gi. “We should take them to Ten Forward for a drink.”

“I suppose I can cut it a little short -- this wasn’t my usual workout time, anyway.”

“Usually she has an entire class full of people. Mr. deLio’s class tends to be even fuller, of the people wanting to do mok’bara but not wanting to die young.”

Worf regarded the captain with one of his less intense looks. “You do not typically brag.”

Jean-Luc’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not really bragging. That’s been true for the past five years, actually, now that I think about it. If I wanted to brag I’d talk about how many Asili she’s managed to kill.”

“I have heard of these Asili, but have not yet seen one myself, due to my responsibilities as an ambassador,” Worf exclaimed, handing the bat’leth back to Deanna. 

Deanna went to return her weapon to the rack. “Computer, remove opponents. One Asili, of average size, armed and armored.”

The result stood in the center of the room -- and it was animated, nostrils flaring, the compliment of two-foot quills rattling as it oriented on her and took a step toward her. It wasn’t the largest she’d seen, but it was taller and broader than any Klingon. It exhaled loudly, snorted, and charged.

Deanna snatched a sharp blade -- a lirpa, she noted peripherally, wondering how the Vulcan weapon had come to be in her dojo -- out of the rack and ran. The huge long-fingered hands reached for her, the mouth full of fangs gaped with saliva dripping, and a typical squealing bellow emerged -- she didn’t hesitate to drive up between the burly arms against the chest of the Asili, grabbing a fistful of fur and the edge of the body armor it wore to repel energy weapons, driving the lirpa tip first into the throat with as much force as she could manage.

She landed on her hands and knees on the broad chest as the creature fell like a tree on the mats, slid off, and strode toward the door. “I’ll go shower and change,” she said, noting the flared nostrils as Worf and Alexander stared at her. She’d shocked them.

When she returned in uniform, to find them in the corridor outside the showers, they were still looking at her as if she’d turned out to be someone else. “I guess they have changed,” she told Jean-Luc, as if continuing their conversation. “I remember they used to be able to talk.”

“Oh, I don’t know, sometimes I stand around staring at you not saying anything at all. It happens often, I’m told.”

It was one of those odd moments when Jean-Luc had clearly left the captain somewhere on the bridge, and thought there was no one around to witness it, but Deanna knew, because she’d relaxed nearly as much as he had, that Rios was coming out of the men’s showers, which were across from the women’s. She sensed him even though he was around the corner out of sight. And it might have been the effect of having just battled around the dojo, or the fact that she particularly enjoyed her husband’s good moods when he was being so flirtatious or cute that she couldn’t resist encouraging him… Or, maybe, she wanted to make the point to Rios even more than she already had, that she had no interest.

“I hadn’t noticed you standing around so much. You’re usually more hands-on than standing around.”

It was interesting, how much squirming they could manage without really moving much. She sensed their discomfort more than anything else. Jean-Luc wasn’t as embarrassed, but he spun on his heel and headed toward the exit. Worf had an expression that reminded her of Yves, trying to eat his least-favorite vegetable ever, and Alexander couldn’t look up from the toes of his hideous armored boots. 

“You said you had someone you wanted the captain to meet?” Deanna turned to follow her husband, trying not to laugh.

“Yes,” Worf blurted, clearly relieved that she wasn’t going to continue teasing. 

“I have to warn you, I’m not going to be happy with you if you’re going to expect him to go through kal’Hiyah with you.”

It put both of them in a shocked state that persisted as they left the gym. They received surprised reactions from the people in the foyer around the equipment desk, walking through - it wasn’t every day that two Klingon warriors walked the decks, she supposed.

The anxiety that had been building in Worf since her last statement came to a head as they approached the lift, where Jean-Luc finally stopped to wait for them. “How did you know?”

“How many times do people say they want you to meet someone and it turns out to be something other than a prospective mate?”

Jean-Luc was like Alexander, looking at the floor, only instead of being embarrassed he was trying not to laugh. “Deanna,” he said, in soft warning.

“It doesn’t take telepathy to -- “

“I seem to remember you asked me to tell you when you started to sound like your mother?”

Now it was her turn to squirm -- she nearly protested, but really couldn’t, and as they entered the lift Worf started to laugh. And laugh, and laugh. “Thank you, Captain,” he exclaimed.

Alexander sidled a little closer to her and smiled down at her. “How is your mother?” he asked, while his father continued to chuckle.

“Happy and hopefully not planning a wedding,” she replied. 

“You haven’t checked your messages,” Jean-Luc said. “There’s an invitation.”

“Oh, Mother,” Deanna moaned. 

Jean-Luc smiled at it. “Well, perhaps it will be called off, as the last three were.”

“I was sorry I couldn’t come to your wedding,” Alexander said. “I didn’t get the invitation in time.”

Deanna took his arm affectionately. “We can show you pictures.”

He asked about the children, and they entered Ten Forward still talking about Yves and his siblings. As Guinan came to greet them with hugs, Deanna noticed Kedris at the same table he’d been at the day before -- in front of the viewport with the second chair deliberately set at a neighboring table, to discourage company. She smiled at Jean-Luc, settled in the chair he’d pulled out for her, and waited while Guinan took their orders.

“I suppose you likely don’t have a good source of prune juice on the home world,” she told Worf as he sat across the table from her. 

“Fortunately, I have a replicator,” he said. 

“So where is she?” Deanna asked.

Worf and Alexander exchanged a glance -- she thought, judging from the emotions at play, that Alexander had wanted her to come with them, and Worf had hesitated. “Lukara is aboard the Gowron -- she is anxious to meet you.”

“So you should bring her for dinner, then,” Jean-Luc said. 

Guinan brought a tray of drinks and set a glass in front of each of them. “Anything else? I was going to take a break, before fifteen thirty -- the kids get here at fifteen forty, usually.”

“No, thank you, Guinan.” Deanna watched the hostess head out of the room. “She supervises the children until the end of alpha shift most days.”

“Yves was very small, when I saw him last.” Worf glanced at Alexander. “Very small.”

“I think he’s a little bigger than that, now,” Deanna said. “Big enough to be an empath himself.”

At that, Worf frowned -- probably doing math and thinking again how long they had been out of touch. “I look forward to meeting him again. Has he reached his thirteenth birthday? He should be ready for his first Rite of Ascension.”

Jean-Luc glanced at Deanna, keeping his face straight -- he wanted to laugh, but that wouldn’t go over well. She shrugged and smiled fondly at Worf. “Betazoids have very different rites, Worf.”

He did a visible double-take. He hadn’t considered that there might be a Betazoid rite at all. “There is a Betazoid Rite of Ascension?”

“Of course there is. It’s very difficult. Not too many people do it any more.”

Alexander was grinning. He no doubt remembered how she sometimes teased Worf -- he was easy to tease. And, apparently, Worf was remembering as well, as she sensed him considering, and his nostrils flared -- but he didn’t ask.

She sipped her ebi’lan and glanced at Jean-Luc. He was watching her with amusement. “Well, don’t look at me. It’s obvious we’ve all caught on to your teasing -- you’ll have to recruit new victims.”

As she started to laugh, so did Alexander. Even Worf chuckled at it. 

“I was tempted to ask myself, just to find out what Betazoid ascension rites are,” Jean-Luc said. 

“Surviving their mother’s endless teasing,” Deanna said. “I’m afraid I haven’t passed mine yet.”

Jean-Luc snorted. “That explains a lot.”

“The children are coming,” she said. The door opened, and Deanna turned and held out her arms. Cordelia raced over and into her arms. Jean-Pierre wasn’t far behind. She kissed the tops of their heads and pointed at Worf. 

“Hi, Ambassador Worf,” Cordelia said. She sidled over and smiled up at him. “I like your hair.”

Deanna had difficulty not laughing -- Worf had his hair long, as many Klingon warriors did, but it was likely he didn’t often have little girls complimenting it on the home world. At least he didn’t glare at her. 

“Thank you,” Worf replied stiffly. “You are Cordelia Picard. I am pleased to meet you.”

“Cordie, go get Papa some more tea,” Jean-Luc said, holding up his cup. She ran around the table to get it from him and hustled to the bar. 

Jean-Pierre leaned on Deanna. She knew he didn’t feel so cheerful as his sister. “What’s wrong, surly boy?”

“I don’t like girls,” he mumbled.

“That’s an odd thing for you to say, since you -- is something going on with Melody?”

Jean-Pierre scowled, wrenched away from her, and took his padd over to another table to slump in a chair with his homework.

“Wasn’t Melody his best friend?” Jean-Luc asked. 

“I suspect we’ve figured out why he’s turning into such a grumpy little man. I’ll try to talk to him about it later.”

Amy arrived while she spoke. She glanced at the Klingons but went around her mother to Papa, standing between them, and clung to his arm. “Papa, can I -- “

“Homework,” he said, reaching for the cup Cordelia brought back for him. Amy rolled her eyes, clutching her padd to her chest. 

“This is Amy,” Deanna said. 

“ _YI'el_ ,” she said. “Which is as polite as I can be in Klingon. What a rude language.”

Worf was on the verge of opening his mouth to protest, but Alexander said, “What would you say in Betazoid?”

It was the opening Amy had been waiting for -- she dropped the padd on the floor, flung out her arms -- Jean-Luc leaned to his right as he sipped his tea, and Deanna frowned at how close her daughter’s hand was to her forehead -- and sang out one of the old formal greetings her grandmother had so helpfully taught her, in her clear soprano. Yves arrived with Fidele at his heels, and came to a halt at Deanna’s left, giving his sister a classic Picard look of incredulous, yet detached, disinterest. 

{Can I have a chocolate milk shake?} he asked, pointing at the bar. Deanna nodded and waved him closer to kiss him on the cheek. He shot another nearly-amused glance at Amy and went to get his drink.

Fidele sat, wagged his tail, cocked his head, and then started to howl. 

Amy stopped, dropping her arms, and glared at the dog. “I wasn’t done yet!”

“It was very well done, but I think Grandmother needs to help you with some of the sixth stanza. You left out some of the words.” Deanna shot a look at Worf, who had been watching her as if in a trance.

“Yes, it was very… well done,” he blurted. “I -- I consider myself well greeted.”

“Yves is getting a chocolate milkshake, why don’t you get one too?”

Amy spun and darted off without delay -- no one needed to tell her twice.

“I guess things are a little more relaxed, on Betazed,” Alexander said. “Our greetings are a lot shorter.” He gave Deanna another toothy grin. “She’s a lot like Lwaxana, isn’t she?”

Jean-Luc’s stifled snort would have earned him a thump on the arm, if they weren’t sitting in Ten Forward. Deanna sighed, and glanced over her shoulder -- Guinan had returned and was putting a milkshake in front of Amy. 

“I suppose you could say that,” she admitted. 

“Tell me about your classes,” Worf said, picking up his prune juice. “Are you using the traditional methods?”

“Oh, there’s nothing traditional about this ship,” Jean-Luc muttered. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he smirked. “Well, it’s true -- how many procedures have you rewritten? And how many Betazoids stab an alien through the neck before sitting down for tea?”

“I would suppose that answer depends on how many of them are left in Starfleet, at this point.” Deanna raised her glass. “To Starfleet -- where we all rapidly learn to set higher goals when the old ones are too easily met.”

Worf gave her one of his rare smiles, the corners of his mouth turning upward. He raised his prune juice again. “To Starfleet.” 

“Here, here,” Jean-Luc exclaimed, bringing his cup up to meet them.

Alexander touched the rim of his glass of root beer to his father’s glass. “ _yIlop! wa'IeS chaq maHegh!_ ”

“ _QuvlIjDaq yIH tu'be'lu'jaj_ ,” Yves commented. He had brought his padd and held it out to Deanna. She took it and glanced over his math problems. 

“Your accent is as bad as your father’s,” Deanna commented. “Do the last three problems again, pay more attention to the order of operations.”

“Oui, Maman,” he said, taking back the padd and heading for the table where his siblings were all sipping a milkshake and focusing on their homework.

“Was he wishing me tribbles?” Jean-Luc asked.

“The loose translation would be ‘may your area be free of tribbles.’” Alexander laughed at it. “Not bad. He’s better at Klingon than I was, at that age.”

Deanna sensed the emotional shift in Worf, and went still, watching him soberly. It was enough to get Alexander’s attention, and Jean-Luc noticed as well, judging from how his own emotions changed. Worf met her gaze, looked at the children at the next table, glanced at Alexander seated on his left, and nodded to himself.

“This is an excellent outcome,” he said softly.

It puzzled Jean-Luc, but Deanna smiled. She knew he was thinking about the time he had been wandering from one parallel universe to another, exploring potential outcomes. “I’m glad you finally reached a place where you can be satisfied with your circumstances, Worf. I know how uneasy you were, for so long. How conflicted you were about whether you belonged in Starfleet. I’m glad you’re happy.”

The smile on Worf’s face startled Jean-Luc, at first. It wasn’t something he had seen when Worf was aboard, years before. “Yes. Thank you, Deanna.”

As he said it, she sensed the mixture of fondness and regret, and appreciation, and nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Jean-Luc plunked his empty cup on the table. He folded his hands and waited. Deanna turned to look, sensing a mild case of impatience. “We should take them home -- you have some of your wine left, I hope?”

“Of course.” Jean-Luc liked that suggestion, and rose to go roust the kids to walk home. 

“You are very happy,” Worf said as softly as he could.

“Oh, yes.” She smiled at him. “Very much so.”

Worf nodded, and stood up. “I have not had the captain’s wine often.”

“We should have some cabernet -- I think you’ll enjoy it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Kredis steeled himself for the meeting, which was on deck two, this time. He settled himself, took a few deep breaths, and stepped into the room, the door opening with his movement. This was one of the well-appointed conference rooms with art on the walls and a maroon carpet -- made for diplomacy. 

Inside, he found the Klingons -- the ambassador, Worf, and a tall woman who also wore the ceremonial dress of a warrior. Both of them had long tightly-curled hair, the crenellated forehead, the resting scowl -- to be differentiated from the angry scowl, of course, which from all accounts would happen just before the Klingon attacked.

And here came the first officer, again with the polite smile. “Ambassador Kredis. May I present Ambassador Worf, of the House of Martok, and Lukara of the House of Moggra.”

Worf raised his head -- like a predator, his eyes fixed on Kredis’ face. “Ambassador,” he said, sounding aggressive. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Lukara inclined her head regally, and said nothing. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“A pleasure,” Kredis said, bowing slightly. He’d worn the quasi-uniform of a Federation ambassador, something similar to the duty uniforms of Starfleet -- black, with grace notes of red. Troi’s uniform was black, form-fitting and had red cuffs, red piping at the seams, red turtleneck under the jacket, while his jacket had red vertical panels down the front and a red collar. 

Worf tilted his head slightly. “You are Romulan,” he said quietly.

“My father, whom I have not met, was Romulan. My mother raised me on Regulus, and I am a Federation citizen. I hope that you do not hold my blood against me, as it is nothing I can change.”

Worf nodded stiffly. “I too have been subjected to circumstances beyond my control. I anticipate that we will focus on resolving the matter of the Devarin incursion.”

At that statement, Troi cleared her throat. “The captain is on his way,” she said. “Would you care for a beverage?”

Kredis accepted a raktajino in the interests of diplomacy, and as they were sitting around the round table, the captain arrived, pleasant and calm as usual. “I sent a message to the Devarin, to confirm the meeting time. They are expecting us tomorrow afternoon.”

“Perhaps we should discuss the incident that precipitated this,” Troi said, bringing a cup from the replicator to place before the captain. She had done that several times, without asking what he wanted. Either his tastes were predictable, or she was using telepathy.

“I examined the data from the G’kharr myself,” Worf exclaimed. He didn’t get anything but calm attention from Picard and Troi, so the belligerent manner must not really be belligerent, Kredis reasoned, but the man’s normal tone of voice. “The Devarin vessel was in a system being surveyed for colonization by the Kornikos, who are citizens of the Empire. The G’kharr was on a patrol of the sector, and received a message from the survey team’s vessel requesting assistance. By the time the G’kharr arrived the survey vessel was disabled and the Devarin were about to board her. The Devarin fled when they decloaked.”

“There has been a long history of conflict with the Devarin,” Lukara said. “They run from battle, however, and have not made any attempt to invade. They lay claim to six systems and lately have been sending vessels into others, the Karagan system being one of them. However, the Kornikos have had a presence in that system for the previous six months -- they have an orbital platform in place over the inhabitable planet there.”

“It sounds straightforward enough,” Kredis said. “However, if it were so simple, we would not be here. I have been reviewing what I have been given on the Devarin culture. It appears that their religious leaders have been putting forth the claim that their god requires them to spread into the rest of the galaxy and to save other species from their godllessness. Not yet having access to their religious texts, I couldn’t say whether that includes killing them. But I suspect that it might include violence, if others do not respond favorably to overtures from their acolytes.”

Troi looked depressed, staring into her cup as if she’d just watched someone die in it.

“The Federation has not involved itself in the matter, as the Devarin refused to speak to representatives until now.” Picard frowned, and took a moment to think. “It’s actually surprising to me that they requested our involvement -- I wonder if there are changes in their society, that may be forcing the religious leaders to ease up on the restrictions?”

“Given what we know of our own cultural history, it’s possible.” Troi sipped her coffee and continued to look sad.

“You do not look optimistic,” Kredis said. He wasn’t, either, but that was beside the point.

Troi’s eyes had the glassy look of resigned acceptance. “Human history is replete with examples of religion being the source of great atrocities committed in its name. Betazed had the good fortune of its populace developing telepathy, and so the last of our great civil conflicts has been remembered -- I do not know about that in the same way humans do, reading a book or watching old films. I know about it. There are very few written accounts of that time period, because we pass it along in a more direct manner. So if I appear pessimistic, it’s because I remember what a religious zealot is capable of doing -- the crew of any Starfleet vessel making first contact on a semi-regular basis could also see the potential outcomes of this situation. There is no more dangerous thing in this galaxy than certainty, in the heart of a person with shuttered eyes and closed ears.”

Kredis found himself staring at her and thinking about her service record, and what empathy must be like. He thought about what he had read about the Devarin. “How much have you researched, about the Devarin, Commander?”

“Anything that could be found in the computer. They restrict their families to two children. Their family systems are simple -- the male is offered to the family of the female at birth, the marriage is a contract between the parents, and once a marriage contract is finalized the child is raised in their new family -- there is no connection with the birth family.”

“That does not appear to be relevant information,” Worf said. Kredis silently agreed.

“It’s relevant, if one considers the consequences of mentioning your own four children,” Troi said. “If the consequences for having more than two children might be imposed on visitors to their society, perhaps we should understand that before engaging in polite conversation with them. I might also be at risk of persecution for not having two of my children sold to some other family by now.”

“It’s also relevant if it’s a matriarchal society, and the women are in charge,” Picard said. He gave Troi a look of forbearance. “You may have to play a larger role in this than you thought.”

She sighed and wearily drank coffee.

Worf was glaring at the table. “You are perhaps aware of their taboos?”

Picard glanced around the table. “You are referring to the clothing issue?”

“What clothing issue?” Lukara exclaimed.

“Devarin wear minimal clothing and consider covering more than half the body a sin,” Deanna said. 

Lukara’s nostrils actually flared, as she sat back and looked absolutely scandalized. She turned to Worf. “I do not care for the idea that you would be without armor,” she asserted with the heightened emotion Kredis had heard about, but not witnessed, that was typical of a Klingon. 

“I do not care for being without clothing.” Worf sounded as though he disliked the idea just as much but had already resigned himself to it.

“We may be misinterpreting -- they may already have considered that we are alien, likely to conform to none of their customs, and that may be why we are meeting them on the space station,” Troi said. “But -- they have only been seen over subspace. I have found no record that anyone has yet stood in their presence.”

“The brief communication I had from them today indicated that we would be receiving instructions. I think that may be the clarification we need.” Picard pursed his lips and looked dubious. “My security chief is concerned. The station is apparently unarmed, unshielded save for an automated system that protects it from asteroids, and only one airlock.”

“He thinks it’s a trap.” 

Picard raised an eyebrow at his first officer. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“I believe that it could be a trap. Has that ever stopped you before?” Kredis asked.

“No. However, it does change the way we approach the mission.” Picard gestured at Worf. “How many weapons are you carrying right now?”

“I’ll wager at least a dozen,” Troi said. 

Worf huffed indignantly. Lukara smiled and looked away, at the floor. 

“All right,” Troi said. “Twenty?”

“Twenty four,” Worf exclaimed. 

Troi smiled, and it was unlike all the polite smiles Kredis had seen -- her genuine fondness for the Klingon fairly glowed from her face. 

“The commander is, of course, her own weapon,” Picard continued. And then he glanced at her, and she had a different glow yet, but almost at once she turned back to the rest of them. No -- she stared at Kredis

“I suggest we reconvene after we receive further information from the Devarin.” Picard snatched up his empty cup. “Ambassador Kredis, are you a martial arts practitioner?”  
“Yes. Do you expect that will be useful?”

“I’m going to watch the commander’s class this morning at ten hundred hours. I thought I would invite you along.”

Kredis considered it. “I would like that, thank you. Shall I meet you there?”

“Yes, of course. In the meantime, I’ll be on the bridge.” Picard nodded to the Klingons, and strode around the table to leave the room. 

“I’ll see you in the gym,” Troi told the Klingons. She gave Kredis a nod and a polite smile, and left herself.

“We should go change,” Lukara said. “If you still want to participate?”

Kredis knew he wasn’t in the room any longer, as the couple looked at each other. So he gave them a perfunctory nod and left as well.

Rather than return to quarters, he spent the twenty minutes walking corridors -- he was strolling the final section of corridor to the gym when the captain emerged from a turbolift. “Ambassador,” he said politely.

“Captain.” 

“I must say, it’s been a relief, having you aboard,” Picard said casually.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Most of the time we get ambassadors that want to talk endlessly -- or worse. I don’t suppose you’ve met Ambassador Troi?”

Kredis smiled in spite of himself. “I doubt there is a member of the Diplomatic Corps who has not. She is the life of many parties, whether anyone wants her to be or not.”

“Deanna lives in fear of another stepfather.” They entered the large foyer and passed an equipment counter. 

Kredis blinked -- he had been so focused on the present that he hadn’t connected the name. So the commander was the ambassador’s daughter. “Has there been a problem with the last one?”

“Lwaxana tends to be impulsive. Her choices have not all gone well.” Picard slowed in the corridor, which had significant foot traffic -- crew in white karate garb were funneling into a door on the left. Picard went in as well, and Kredis followed. 

“This is the best seat in the house,” Picard said, going to a bench along the wall near a weapons rack full of long, sharp objects. 

“Do you come to this class often?”

“Oh, no. Only for occasions. I never did learn any of the martial arts, myself.”

“Then it should be evident that you don’t need them, to survive in Starfleet.”

Picard became thoughtful, his gaze distant. “There were times it would have helped, however.”

Kredis watched more people file in and fill the benches along the other walls. “This is a large class.”

“It’s her class, and deLio’s class, plus the afternoon shotokan class. Any time she has deLio in for a demo this happens. Today, she’s going up against her old teacher, Worf.”

It took a moment to recover from the shock. “You seem quite calm about that.”

Picard gave him an amused look. “I’m actually a little worried about Worf. I’m not sure he’s ready for it. He’s underestimating her. So are you, apparently.”

Kredis watched the L’norim, looking emaciated in the white gi, come into the room. deLio nodded at the captain and continued to the other weapons rack. And then Worf came in, dressed for the class, followed by Lukara -- she hadn’t changed so obviously wasn’t participating. Picard waved her over, and she came to sit stiffly on Picard’s right. 

“Your mate, she is proficient?” Lukara asked calmly. “I do not like when they make this sort of challenge while they are drinking. I should not like to see her injured. Worf does not flinch from a fight.”

“Then he hasn’t changed. Deanna will be fine.”

“What sort of martial arts do you practice, Ambassador Kredis?” Lukara asked.

“I have been practicing kenpo since I was a boy. It is a Terran method.”

The Klingon’s nose wrinkled briefly. “I am not familiar with that.”

Troi arrived -- she had been slender and slight in the uniform, the white gi was no better. Her hair had been braided and coiled against her head tightly. She shot a smile at them, at the captain, and shouted out a command -- fifteen of the gi-clad individuals bounced off the benches and scrambled into a line, standing at attention. 

She approached, bowed to them, received a bow in return, and the class began -- she led them in a long series of movements, and Kredis found himself listening to Lukara’s soft commentary to Picard about the finer points of mok’bara. Then Troi split the class into groups and had them sparring. 

The ship’s doctor arrived, with a medkit in hand. He glanced around and went to sit farther down the bench on their end of the room. 

The surprise must have shown in Kredis’ face. Picard turned to him and said, “It’s standard procedure, when she does a demonstration on live victims instead of holograms.”

Worf had participated in the forms but hadn’t joined one of the groups. He had retreated to a corner and was doing his own stretches and feints. 

“You sound very confident in her abilities,” Lukara said, highly amused. 

“I know how I sound. You can trust that I was as surprised as Worf will be, in a few minutes.”

Kredis decided to place his own bet -- no one was believing the captain. But he thought that it would be out of character if it were idle bragging. 

And the time came. The students left the floor, Troi came all the way across and bowed to her captain, then turned around and slowly moved to the middle of the room, where Worf had taken up a position -- as if it had been timed, the two of them adopted the stance -- arms raised, knees bent, and began to circle one another. 

Worf’s first attack came and went in a flurry of limbs and a roar -- and then the Klingon went rolling and jumping back to his feet while the collected students yelled. More stalking in a circle, and he lunged again only to come around empty handed.

“If all she does is dodge, she is not doing mok’bara,” Lukara exclaimed.

“Brute strength is not the most important asset in a fight,” Picard said. 

The warrior woman turned to look at him in surprise. She almost missed Troi’s first attack that way.

Kredis almost missed it as well -- the commander moved faster than he would have anticipated. She landed a blow, dodged under the Klingon’s arm and sent an elbow into his ribs -- Worf grabbed at her, angry, and she wriggled and went dancing away, leaving him holding her jacket. She had a white tank top on.

The students hammered their feet on the floor as she circled her opponent once more. Worf tossed the jacket aside and refocused. When he swung a fist, Kredis knew the first attacks had been tests -- this was the real thing. And Deanna blocked it and caught his jaw with a backhand. 

Kredis watched the fight with the realization that this was how it must have been in his own dojo, where his own physiology had given him an edge. Being a Romulan hybrid had always gone in his favor, in a classroom full of humans on Regulus. 

“She is fighting with her eyes closed,” Lukara exclaimed, her voice rising in shock. 

“She is faster that way,” Picard said. He kept his eyes on the battle in front of them.

The gathered students together gave a great roar of triumph -- Kredis looked again, and saw Worf on the mats, rolling to his feet. He charged the Betazoid but instead of avoiding she sprang in the air and kicked out to drive a heel forward to strike his shoulder. She landed on both feet as he recovered and threw a punch that cracked against his forehead, or perhaps it was his nose -- it was hard to tell. 

And then Worf froze, fist in the air, and stared down at her wide-eyed. But she took advantage of it and drove the attack once again. It left him sprawling.

“I think he figured out she’s fighting with her eyes closed,” Picard said.

It went longer than Kredis expected, and while it was likely the Klingon could have fought longer, Troi was probably the one to have a thought for the audience. She tapped out, although it was obvious she was in no distress, and bowed to the Klingon. Picard crossed into his field of vision then -- Kredis watched him pull a long staff from the weapons rack and walk toward the fighters.

The students started hammering their feet again. deLio snatched a staff from the other weapons rack on his side of the room and tossed it to Troi. She watched her captain approach, standing calmly with a welcoming smile. And then she spun the staff to meet his, as he brought it down at her head, and what followed was a rather interesting performance that looked part swordplay, part martial arts, and part dance. Neither one of them gained any ground on the other or landed a blow. He alternately swiped at her as if using a sword, swung it round like a baton, and at times took the stance of a fencer. She countered and spun and swung at him, dodged and darted in to take another swing. 

Worf, meanwhile, came over to sit with Lukara and watched avidly. Kredis paid them little attention. The combatants danced a crooked path across the dojo, and Kredis noticed the moment the Klingons did that the captain, too, had closed eyes -- neither of them were fighting with eyes open. Lukara gasped, and Worf muttered something in Klingon.

There came a rather intense moment when Picard closed the distance between them and feinted as if swinging to strike, then switched directions and jabbed the end of his staff between her ankles. She fell, but used her legs to catch his staff and rolled, taking him down with her. There was a scuffle and she jumped back to her feet, backing off while he got up. He seemed to be having difficulty, and Troi took a step forward, concerned, but when she was within arm’s reach he lunged, swung her over his shoulder and held her there as he pivoted in place, swinging her around. She could grab at the back of his uniform, but he held her legs against his chest -- she was caught and her hair was falling out of the pins, and she laughed loudly, gave up her flailing, and dangled loose.

Then she shifted her weight, slid further down his back, and grabbed his pants at the back of his calf. He stopped walking, then set her down on her feet. 

“Draw,” she said. 

“Only because you didn’t yank my leg out from under me.” He grabbed her arm and pulled it high into the air. Their audience cheered for her, as she stepped in to hug her captain with one arm, the comrade-in-arms congratulatory embrace.

Kredis watched the crowd dissipate after they were dismissed, and Troi and Picard came back to his side of the room. The Klingons stood, as did the doctor, so Kredis got up and joined them. Worf was shaking his head.

“So about the annual physical,” Mengis said. “I think we’ll just call you a pass.”

“I don’t think so, but nice try,” Troi replied. 

“I know. See you next week, Captain.” Mengis departed with his unused medkit.

Troi glanced around at them. “I’m going to head for quarters to clean up, the changing rooms will be crowded.”

“Deanna,” Worf said, before she could turn to go. “I concede.”

It caught her off guard. With her hair down around her shoulders, and a fond smile, she was even more beautiful. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

Picard put his arm across her shoulders. “Deanna, stop it,” he exclaimed. “You heard him. Don’t make him do it twice.”

Lukara studied Worf as if rethinking something. He scowled at her. “The wager was that she would prove she could best me in hand to hand. I would not have withstood her for very much longer. And then she went on to -- I am not certain I would call that fighting. Nor do I understand how it is that you both fought with your eyes closed.”

“I’m not sure I understand it either,” Picard said. There was an amused note in his voice that suggested he wasn’t entirely serious. 

Troi was looking at him, and Kredis took that as his time to speak, before she could ask whatever question showed in her eyes. “I am impressed, Commander. I had not anticipated that a Betazoid might be so deadly as you obviously are.”

She wasn’t smiling. “There are many reasons to be deadly, lately,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t one of the things I had ever planned to be. If you will excuse me?”

Picard watched her head off toward the door, and turned to the ambassadors. “I shall contact you when we receive further information from the Devarin. Excuse me, please.” He turned to follow his first officer.

“You were right,” Lukara said, to Worf. “I am impressed with your friends. They are not what I would have expected.”

“And they are turning out to be more than I expected,” he rumbled in response. Then he seemed to notice Kredis still there, and turned to eye him with suspicion.

“I agree with you,” Kredis said. “They have been quite different than I anticipated.” He gave a polite nod and headed for the door himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Deanna slowly ran the dermal regenerator down her right arm, where she had landed on her shoulder. She turned and tried to see over her shoulder in the mirror.

Jean-Luc came in the bathroom. “Here, let me.” While he ran it over her back, he caressed her shoulder, her arm, and after turning off the regenerator slid his arms around her from behind and buried his face in her hair. She closed her eyes and relaxed against him. 

Their method of sparring had only been possible because of the bond, of course, but the end result had them more connected than usual, and now she felt so close to him she didn’t need to ask, or speak. She knew how he felt -- the same as she did, with hajira thrumming between them like an electrical current. When she started to move, turning to lean against the counter next to the sink, he loosened his arms to accommodate and then kissed her, his hands sliding down her back to lift her up to sit while she unfastened the front of his pants. 

The merging of their bodies was like a completion of the circuit -- her arms went around his neck and she pushed against the front of his uniform. He wanted and her body responded to him automatically, tensing around him, against him, and he laughed against her lips when she came. 

“You’re being a very bad officer,” she whispered. “But a very good husband.”

He didn’t care, and ran his lips down her jaw, her throat, nibbling and starting to thrust again. She hooked her legs around him and came again with a laugh, and he bit her shoulder gently. 

“Come,” she murmured, clenching again around him. He obeyed with a groan and held her tightly. She brushed the back of his head lightly with her fingers and pressed in against him, her knees pushing in against his ribs.

“I don’t want to leave either,” she said after a long, quiet embrace, resting in each other’s arms. “But the counter is getting uncomfortable.”

Jean-Luc stepped back, and she came off the counter and into his arms again. He didn’t want to let go of her, for some reason, and the bond was ebbing so it wasn’t immediately apparent to her. He touched her face and looked in her eyes, and started to feel sad.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said at once. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure I can watch you do this, any more.”

Deanna tilted her head, nodding, taking a deep breath. “You want me to quit.”

“I don’t,” he exclaimed, turning to pull off his jacket and shirt, drop his pants. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. I just -- it’s changed you, in ways that -- “

She leaned against the counter again. “That you have difficulty articulating. And I haven’t been so articulate myself, have I?”

He dragged the shirt over his head and dropped it on the side of the tub with his jacket. “I don’t want you to tell me things you’d rather not say, either.”

Deanna looked at the floor, thinking, and shook her head. “I’m tired of the cadets.”

It was funny, how he could stand there wearing nothing at all and still be Captain Picard -- it was his posture and the serious, calculating look. He’d been about to go into the shower but the confession had caught him off guard. 

“I’m tired of being caught in situations like this, where we have to go into a situation that looks unresolvable -- everything the Randra Alliance touched turns out that way. If the Dominion is now sending scouts -- “

He came back to her and gripped her by the shoulders. “What do you want to do?”

“That would be my question for you. I know you’re tired, but it’s been several years since we talked about this, and I haven’t wanted to say -- I don’t want to push you.”

Jean-Luc grinned happily at her. “And I was hesitating to say anything to you because I didn’t want to push you.”

“Get in the shower.”

“If you get in with me.”

She followed him in, let him wash her -- he turned off the water and leaned in to kiss her, both of them wet and sliding against each other. But, of course, it was going nowhere soon. They dried off and he went to get fresh uniforms while she brushed out her hair. 

It usually took a while, but with his help braiding and pinning her hair, she cut fifteen minutes off her time. As they left their quarters together, she smiled -- he must have been paying attention as he immediately glanced at her.

“I was just thinking about Captain Picard. What a wonderful experience it has been, working with him.”

“I’m told that Admiral Picard -- “

“ -- is twice as fantastic, and handsome, and a sexy beast,” she said, echoing claims he’d made before and adding to it just to hear him swear. “I’m sure that’s all true.”

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as they walked into the lift and startled a handful of cadets into stiff attention. One of them was Rios -- what kind of karma was she having, that he kept showing up? He’d been among the students in the dojo. 

“Captain,” Rios said, greeting him with a polite smile. “Commander.”

Jean-Luc stared at him for a few seconds, then turned to Deanna. “Do you anticipate having any difficulty with him in the future?” he asked, as if continuing a conversation.

There was no context, but as he met her eyes she picked up a hint. “I don’t think so. It’s hardly been a problem, really.”

He nodded. She sensed Rios’ anxiety, listening to the exchange, and she had to work on not smiling.

“It’s one of those cases -- you know what I mean,” she went on. “Likely to succeed, eventually, once he understands that making better decisions for himself means not indulging every whim. It can be difficult especially if the parents sheltered him far too long and did not let him take responsibility for things, or bear the consequences of mistakes.”

Jean-Luc snorted. “Or perhaps just a headstrong young man who thinks he’s smarter than the rest of the galaxy? I used to know a young man like that. We met every morning in the mirror.”

“Used to know?”

“Are you trying to tell me something, Commander?”

She gave him a long suffering look of tolerance. She noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that the other two cadets were hiding amusement, and Rios was staring at the toes of his boots. “I wasn’t aware that you felt you’re no longer young, or headstrong. Or are you questioning your manhood?”

He stared at her -- it might have been intimidating if she didn’t know he was trying very hard not to laugh at her. Now all three cadets were staring at the floor with great determination. Fortunately, the lift opened on deck ten, and the cadets scurried out.

Once the door was closed Jean-Luc shook his head, leaned back against the wall, and appealed to the ceiling with his eyes. “Questioning my manhood?”

“It could have been worse. I could have called you Admiral Sexy Beast.”

“If nothing else, this conversation is proving that we need to step off and do something else -- perhaps I’ll just spend all my time with the kids, until you come home and I can chase you around the house?”

“You’re assuming I’ll let you chase me. You might find it would be the other way around.”

Before he could start swearing at her, the lift opened on deck four, and Counselor Keller came in. She glanced at each of them, and sighed. 

“Hello, Keela,” Deanna said pleasantly.

“Good afternoon, Deanna,” she replied. But her expression was still doubtful.

“Is everything all right?”

Keela crossed her arms, and said, “Computer, deck ten. Yes, everything’s fine -- I sometimes feel as though I’m interrupting you, when I run into you like this. Perhaps I should ask you the same question?”

“We were discussing something personal, that’s all. We do that sometimes in the lift. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable.”

Keela smiled, but still seemed anxious. Deanna was happy when the lift opened on the bridge, and Jean-Luc led her out of the lift. She followed him into the ready room, but didn’t sit down. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. He hesitated, standing next to his chair behind his desk. “I shouldn’t have taken the conversation there. You wouldn’t have been looking at me that way, and I wouldn’t have been joking that way.”

He frowned a little, contemplating, and shook his head. “I think we’re arriving at the point where it becomes obvious that it’s time -- like so many other changes we’ve made, it’s just what we need to do now. I’m being impatient with duty-related things because I’m done with it. You’re being more and more irritable with idiot cadets for the same reason. I’ll talk to the fleet admiral and start the process of finding a dirtside posting. And you have decisions to make as well. Whether you want to stay in Starfleet, for one. Or go into private practice, as you’ve talked about before.”

“All right, I’ll think about it. I’m going to Ten Forward now. Worf and Lukara are there.” She smiled at him. “With your permission, Captain.”

“Of course. Dismissed, Commander.”

She returned to the turbolift. On the way to Ten Forward, she covered her mouth with her hands and tried not to think about it too much. She shook it off when the door opened and strode down the corridor. 

The three cadets from the lift were there. Of course. Just two tables from where Worf and his par’mach’kai were sitting. She smiled at her friends and went to join them, ignoring Rios and his friends. 

“I’d like to thank you, Worf,” she said, sitting across from him. “It’s not often my students get to see an experienced mok’bara master at work.”

He stared at her for a moment. “You did say that you teach that class,” he said at last. “Do you not always teach it?”

She blinked, caught off guard. It was too difficult to respond at first. Lukara smiled; it wasn’t something she did in the course of conversation before, but she was beginning to feel fondness for them. 

“I’m not sure what to say,” Deanna confessed. “Thank you.”

“You do not need to thank me for speaking the truth,” he said, in the slightly-edgy way he had when nervous.

“Your proficiency is obvious, although there are clearly influences from other martial arts in your style,” Lukara said. She was a master as well, Deanna knew. It had been one of the things that had brought her and Worf together -- they had met in a tournament.

“I would welcome you at my side on any battlefield,” Worf said. 

“Even if I can’t help teasing you once in a while?”

“You weren’t teasing while you were fighting, so yes. In fact….”

Deanna glanced up at Guinan, as she brought over a cup of tea for her. “Worf likes me better when I’m fighting and not teasing him.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Guinan said with a sly smile. 

“I’ll remember to bring my bat’leth to Ten Forward, next time, then,” Deanna said, swiping her fingers across her throat.

“Let me know when you’ll come back. So I can have deLio tending bar.” Guinan moved off, silently laughing. 

“I did not say that, Deanna.” Worf sounded perturbed, in the quiet way he had often been, just before they broke up and he left the ship. 

“I know you didn’t. I’m sorry. I can’t help myself.”

Lukara chuckled, the first time she had laughed since the Klingons had arrived, and Deanna found herself grinning and joining her. To her surprise Worf joined them. She raised her tea cup, and they raised their glasses, and she straightened her shoulders and said, “Here’s to glorious battles, whether they are in the dojo, in space, or merely a battle of wits between friends.”

“Qapla’,” Worf exclaimed, and Lukara nodded and did the same.

“Or poker,” Deanna added. “Perhaps we should have a game, if there’s time.”

“You would enjoy poker,” Worf told his mate. “It is a warrior’s game.”

It led to some reminiscing, retelling old stories to Lukara, and that led to sharing some of her less-remembered experiences before Deanna had become first officer. They ate lunch while they talked. 

As Guinan took away their empty dishes, Worf glanced at Lukara. “We should return to the Gowron, for the afternoon.”

“You will join us for dinner,” Lukara asked, though it sounded like an order.

“Jean-Luc and I would be happy to,” Deanna said, imagining what the children might do with gagh, when it was a battle to get them to eat spinach.

“Excellent. We will expect you at eighteen hundred hours.” Worf stood, as did Lukara, and the two marched out of Ten Forward. Guinan glanced at their backs as she approached. 

“It’s good to see Worf again,” the hostess said. “I thought you might enjoy a little dessert, before you go back to work.” She held a sundae -- hot fudge, chocolate and vanilla ice cream, and a variety of toppings.

“Of course. Thank you, Guinan.”

Guinan placed it in front of her and gave her a serious look. “That cadet, Rios, has he been bothering you?” she asked, very softly.

Deanna stared at her, taken aback. The hostess rarely said anything like this about anyone. Her non-interference policy was nearly as strict as Deanna’s. “Some of the time. I’m handling it. Why?”

“He was in here a few weeks ago having a brag session with a couple of the other cadets. One of them challenged him to seduce an officer.”

“I see. Thank you, Guinan. That makes sense of something I’ve wondered about. You can be sure he won’t get very far.”

The hostess nodded and returned to her bar, and the dwindling number of patrons sitting there. 

Deanna took the time to eat slowly, and as she suspected, after she sat alone for a bit, her least favorite cadet approached. He was supposed to be heading for his afternoon assignment, not lingering here. His two friends had already left, as had the other cadets that had been scattered around the lounge during lunch. 

As he came up behind her, she dug her spoon into the diminished scoop of chocolate ice cream and said sternly, “Sit down, Mr. Rios.”

He obeyed, shocked, and then he felt a bit of optimism -- strings of obscenities danced in her head. But she put down her utensil and glared across the table at him.

“I wanted to say, sir, that I know you were talking about me in the lift. I want to apologize to you.” 

Deanna raised an eyebrow, her chin coming up slightly. “You do? What a remarkable assumption. You think we were talking about you, in front of you.”

He flinched, and sat silently for a moment. “I… I thought….”

“What an incredible situation for you to be in, standing in a lift while the captain and first officer are discussing some arrogant officer and assuming it’s about you. Thinking that you are of such importance to them. Did it ring true for you, what was said?”

Rios straightened and his face went sober. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone said something like that about me. I’ve been accused of worse. I don’t let it bother me.”

She smiled, aware of how he was recoiling and regrouping, and let her smile creep wider, as she sensed his reaction to it. Setting him off balance was going to be easy. Perhaps she could shift his perspective in the process.

“I am extremely disappointed in you,” she began, letting anger color her voice. 

He gaped at her now, glanced away briefly, and had the nerve to be upset, instead of chastened. “Commander, I don’t understand. I’ve had high marks on -- “

“You are being complacent and taking very little of anything seriously. You think, because you have natural talent and intelligence, that you can get by doing just enough work. You’ve been skating through and distracting the other cadets when they should be concentrating on their work. You think you’re going to be a captain, some day, and you think you are already that capable. Your arrogant assumptions will lead to stupid mistakes, when it comes to first contact situations, diplomacy, battle -- nearly anything one encounters out here. I should let you learn the hard way, really. But Starfleet expects me to prepare cadets for duty, to help them excel, not just succeed. It would be extremely irresponsible of me, allowing someone with your attitude to move forward to such failures -- ships are lost because of mistakes made with too much bravado and not enough rational problem-solving. You could be so much more than you are, if you actually worked hard. It’s so upsetting to me, when I see another promising cadet on this path. Do you think we can afford that, Mr. Rios?”

Rios put on a brave face, but she could tell he was anxious and trying to sort out how to wriggle around it. “No, sir! I do not! I know that I’m here to learn, and I’ve already learned more than -- “

“Do you understand what a Betazoid is, Mr. Rios? Do you perhaps hear from others that I am not typical, that I am an empath? Do you understand that I know when you lie, or try to obfuscate, or manipulate? You do not get to talk me into believing what you say, when I can tell you are not being honest. I don’t play games on duty, Cadet, and I don’t appreciate when others try to include me in theirs. You can stop trying to maneuver me, impress me, or seduce me -- I’m not going to tolerate it any longer.”

Now he went wide-eyed. Now she had his full attention. He snapped his mouth shut, leaning back a little in his chair and staring at her warily. 

She leaned forward, giving him a glare that sent children and officers scrambling. “Get your head on straight, Mr. Rios. This is not a pleasure cruise, not your playground, not a brothel on Goran V, and most definitely not where you will be for the duration of your career. You are not a special little flower we are going to nurture and pamper, nor will you be here for very long if you can’t get it through your head that duty is what you are to do, and the crew of this ship are not your personal playthings. If I don’t see you taking this seriously, I will give you the opposite of a letter of recommendation -- Starfleet deserves your best. You are not giving it to them. You are, in fact, wasting my time, and our resources. And if you do not want to be written up, I expect you will pay closer attention to your own schedule -- you are late for engineering, Mr. Rios! GO!”

He bolted. The chair tipped over in his wake, and he almost ran into the captain as he came in -- that alarmed him again, and he dodged and fled Ten Forward in a panic. 

Jean-Luc approached with an amused smile, and picked up the toppled chair to sit down. “Eating cadets for dessert these days?”

“He deserved it. He said he knew we were talking about him in the lift. And he didn’t care.”

“Little does he realize that the landscape is littered with the bodies of arrogant bastards who dare take on the first officer of the Enterprise.” He smirked and watched her polish off her ice cream. “I spoke with Adira, about the current options available to me. He’s quite happy to make room for me anywhere I like, and offered me up front a position in Tactical Operations.”

“You would be good at that. Are you interested?”

“I told him I would think about it. He asked about you, and gave me a list of options for you.” Jean-Luc passed a padd to her. 

She studied it -- there were five, a small vessel among them. “Staff psychologist at Starfleet Medical, a training vessel based in McKinley, a teaching position at the Academy… I wouldn’t have expected -- Jean-Luc, what are you angry about?”

He sighed, and looked tired. “He knows better than to think you would accept it. But I would have expected them to offer you the Enterprise -- it’s almost a tradition, to offer the first officer the ship when the captain steps off. You’ve been first officer for longer than Will was. It makes more sense to have an officer in place that the crew knows, to provide continuity. I can’t help but think it’s a slight against me, for promoting you in the first place.”

Deanna considered that. “I don’t think that’s what it is. I think they aren’t wanting to encourage other captains to do the same. Or encourage other officers to take the route I took. That would be the message, wouldn’t it? Rewarding me with the flagship for my years of service with my husband. Or, it could be construed as nepotism, giving it to me. Another appearance they would want to avoid.”

“I don’t care, really, but you deserve the choice, regardless.”

She wrinkled her brow at him. “Please don’t be so angry about it. I really don’t care -- it’s enough that you think I should have it, if I want it.”

He nodded, and kept feeling offended on her behalf anyway.

“I’ll teach a class or two, and take the training ship.” She gave him a moment to be surprised, as that wasn’t an option. “That’s what I will tell them. I want to teach a class in diplomacy. Really, one about social skills, but calling it diplomacy will help lure in the arrogant little minds so I can challenge them to be more rational and less like a gaping black hole of entitlement.”

He considered that, and, judging from how he felt, planned a rebuttal to tell her why that wouldn’t happen. As she sensed he was about to speak, she continued.

“I’ll tell them my second choice is the Enterprise. They’ll give me my first choice, because it’s less of a public relations nightmare than they’ll have, once my mother gets going. Because you do not mess with a telepathic politician, especially one who excels in appearing to be innocuously eccentric but knows all the back channels and ways of spreading news without saying a word.”

Jean-Luc grinned at her, even started to laugh. “I’m once again feeling fortunate that you are on my side. I’ve never heard of anyone blackmailing their way into promotion.”

“Blackmail would be finding Adira’s mistress and threatening to tell his wife about her. I’m giving them a choice. Manipulative, perhaps, but I really don’t have to threaten anyone. Adira knows my mother. He was part of the diplomatic corps before he was promoted.” Deanna pushed aside the empty dish and sighed. “I have a class, this afternoon, and I haven’t even looked at the daily reports, not to mention I promised Yves and Amy I would spend a little time helping them with shielding exercises.”

“Amy?” He stood up when she did, and walked with her. 

“She’s right on schedule. I want to help her learn how to shield sooner than poor Yves. I wish I had been telepathic when he started sensing emotions. It would be easier for him now.”

“He’ll be all right. I think he’s having fun with us, some of the time. Playing it up more than it actually bothers him. His teachers say he’s been fine in school, despite the younger children having the usual meltdowns and tantrums.”

They went silent approaching the lift, and once inside the empty compartment, she braced herself. “Bridge. I need to tell you something, about Rios.”

He went through the same emotional process, bracing himself for it. “You could just tell me whether or not I’ll need an airlock, or a phaser.”

“He tried to kiss me in the dojo, yesterday. Before you brought Worf in. He came over from his class with Sweeney and I was alone, working through a kata. I wouldn’t have guessed he would be that brazen. I know they all know that I am married, and who to.” She’d been resorting to the extremely explicit tactic of including that fact in their orientation at the beginning of their six months aboard the Enterprise, trying to put the onus of explanations on her, rather than Jean-Luc meeting with each of them and having to do it several times.

Jean-Luc surprised her, by feeling the incredible anger and then letting it go again, settling into grim acceptance. “How badly did you hurt him?”

She laughed, taking his arm and leaning on him fondly. “I knocked him on his ass. He wasn’t even embarrassed.”

“I fully expect you’ll do the same, if he ever tries again?”

“I’ll just fire him. I told him he was wasting my time, and if he didn’t take this seriously he would be gone, from here, from Starfleet, and that I was disappointed that he was being wasted potential, instead of officer material. He thinks his father being a vice admiral will get him somewhere, I’ll tell his father the same thing, let him hear about his son pretending he can seduce a career officer on a bet.”

“A bet!”

“Guinan overheard the wager. Oh, he finds me attractive. Likely why he chose me and not Keela. Although, I haven’t asked -- perhaps I will. I think she would have told me, though, if he’d done anything untoward with her.”

They rode silently almost all the way to the bridge. “You need to tell me about these things,” he said at last.

“I need to handle them. It’s my job. He’s trivial, not worth distracting you from other issues. I only brought it up now because if he decides to continue in his arrogance, he may try to retaliate, by telling you I assaulted him, leaving out the part where he tried to kiss me.”

Jean-Luc touched the panel, stopped the lift, and crossed his arms -- his ire shouldn’t have been surprising, she supposed. “How many situations of this nature have you not mentioned to me?”

“Rios is the only idiot who’s ever tried to kiss me.”

He gazed at her, looking irritated but feeling outraged. He took a deep breath, and tapped his finger on his elbow. “You should have told me.”

“I would have, but we had Klingons, and then the children -- I would have this morning except there was the class, and -- I’m not going to say anything in front of Worf. I don’t know that he wouldn’t have demanded to defend your honor, or mine, or exacted whatever retribution he feels is suitable on the behalf of a former par’mach’kai, or friend, or comrade -- “

“Enough! Deanna, I’m serious -- you need to tell me when something like this happens, immediately. This is not the sort of thing I will allow aboard my vessel. I’m going to talk to him, now, and make that painfully clear to him.”

“I -- “ She realized he was right, and nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“You should be there.” He set the lift in motion again. Chewing her lower lip, chastened, she followed him into the ready room, after he asked deLio to contact the cadet and have him come to the ready room. She sat down, as he did, and sighed, looking at him across his desk.

“I know you handled the incident,” he said. “But if he is prone to such behavior in general, it’s best for the commanding officer to make a clear statement on the matter and put him on notice.”

“I’m aware of that, Captain,” she chided softly. “We had this conversation when it happened to Annika, I believe. It hasn’t happened since, and I’ve allowed myself to be caught up in other things that I forgot it.”

The annunciator interrupted, and when admitted Rios strode in. She sensed the momentary hesitation when he saw her, but he didn’t show it. He came to attention behind the empty chair next to her. “Reporting as instructed, sir,” he said crisply.

“Sit down, Cadet.” Jean-Luc regarded the man with a calculating expression. “Do you know why you are here?”

Rios glanced at Deanna and turned back to the captain, without a hint of shame or dread -- she knew he was anxious and dreading, internally, but he was putting on a good show. “I think so, sir.”

“Then perhaps you would like to explain to me what you were expecting to accomplish, by approaching one of the senior staff in such a way.”

Rios frowned a little, looking down at the floor. “I’m not sure… I wasn’t thinking, sir. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let myself become so caught up in the moment. She’s so -- “

“Cadet,” Jean-Luc said harshly. He spent a moment setting aside anger, glanced at Deanna, and snorted. She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Spare me, Mr. Rios. I refuse to believe that someone with letters of recommendation extolling your self control and your intelligence would believe they could swindle me into accepting that you couldn’t help yourself, in the face of such a beautiful woman. Particularly since I know the woman in question -- she’s been putting cadets through the wringer for about a decade now. This is my first officer, perhaps you have met her? She and I have worked together for longer than you have been alive. Think about that for a few moments, while you decide what you’re going to say to me next.”

It didn’t surprise her that he took the time offered. Deanna sat at attention and looked at the captain, instead of the cadet. Jean-Luc continued to observe Rios, reminding her of a cat pretending mild interest in a bird while letting it get closer.

“I’m sorry that I tried to kiss your wife,” Rios said at last. He even sounded regretful. 

Deanna rolled her eyes, again. 

Jean-Luc, on the other hand, started to look angry. He leaned forward slightly, just a few inches. “Mr. Rios. Have I mentioned anything about my wife?”

“Well, yes, sir, she’s -- “

“I am speaking to you, Mr. Rios, in a very condescending manner, because you appear to have missed a few classes and now I am suspecting your transcript to be inaccurate. Personal relationships are not to interfere with professional. I am here to address a sexual assault committed while both parties were on duty -- physical fitness being one of the things that all officers are expected to have, and thus activities supporting that end may be considered work-related. My first officer was in a dojo exercising, and you were supposed to be elsewhere, yet you saw fit to enter the room and attempt to kiss her, without first determining whether such an advance would be welcome.”

At the words ‘sexual assault’ Rios flinched -- Deanna had to close her eyes and calm herself, rather than smile. And she chided herself -- she should have made a point of lecturing the idiot on this specific matter, at the time, instead of getting angry and then letting him escape.

Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair. He waited, but when the cadet had nothing to say, he went on. “Do I need to walk you through the necessity for obtaining consent from the person before you attempt to touch them, Cadet?”

“No, sir.” The quiet compliance was a facade. Deanna flicked her alarmed gaze at Jean-Luc, and he recognized what she wasn’t saying.

“Are you confused, or perhaps in disagreement, with the regulations on this matter? Or do we need remedial work on this subject?”

“No, sir. I’m not confused.”

“The commander has not pressed charges. I am trying to decide whether to put a reprimand on your record. What would you do, in my position, Mr. Rios?”

Deanna did look at him then, calmly, and kept looking while he squirmed around inside and wavered between anger and fear. The cadet had talked often enough about being the captain of his own ship. 

“I would issue a reprimand,” Rios said, squaring his shoulders. “Sir.”

“Commander, what is your assessment of the cadet, so far?”

She turned to the captain and considered her words, not that she needed to, letting Rios suffer a little. “Mr. Rios shows promise. His tendency has been to waste time -- the department heads have told me that they have had to redirect him, sometimes, when there is a lull and he tries to talk to other cadets or officers about personal topics. His assignments are completed on time and up to standard, but not brilliant. His proficiency with weapons and hand-to-hand are fair. He likes challenges, which is a good attribute to have in Starfleet, but he lacks the patience to deal with the more tedious, less challenging aspects of the job. I suspect that his behavior toward me is the end result of boredom.”

Rios found the summary surprising, somehow, despite the fact that she had said as much to him before, though not in such an encapsulated way. Perhaps he had expected her to go on a negative campaign to have him removed. 

“Does that sound accurate to you, Cadet?” Jean-Luc asked. 

For a moment, she thought he might try to amend it somehow. But he simply said, “Yes, sir.”

“Then you have the unfortunate problem of finding ways to address boredom, without resorting to assault. Would you happen to have any ideas how you might approach this problem?” Jean-Luc leaned, forearms on his desk, his tone making it apparent that if Rios didn’t come up with any, he had plenty of suggestions.

Deanna suspected that, had he really had the ability to think on his feet, Rios would have started to make suggestions or contested part of what she had said, instead of agreeing by default to avoid. She turned to stare at him and he was caught looking back and forth between them. 

“I should focus on -- I can excel, not meet standards. Focus on my duties, sir,” he managed at last. And then it was as though the last piece of it fit into place. “Commander. I’m sorry, for my poor behavior. It won’t happen again.”

She nodded. “To anyone,” she added, with a hint of warning. 

“Yes, sir. It won’t happen to anyone.”

Jean-Luc dismissed him, and glared at the cadet’s back as he left. 

“Idiot,” she murmured.

“Are you certain you want to teach?” 

Deanna shrugged, sagging in her chair. “I can manage a year. See if catching them before the graduation makes a difference in the attitude. And then I can decide if private practice appeals more.”

“Because the idiots aren’t getting what they need from the current instructors at the Academy, clearly,” he said. “Although, in their defense, the instructors don’t have to tolerate them for more than a few hours a week, don’t end up in Ten Forward watching them hit on others, don’t have them just showing up during their off hours….”

“Perhaps I need to revise my plan.” Deanna crossed her arms and thought about her own instructors. “Perhaps, I need to instruct the instructors.”

“Now you’re just being too radical. Expecting teachers to understand more about line officers, what are you thinking? That’s crazy talk.”

“When are you planning to make your decision?”

“I suppose I’ll do that after I know what you want to do.”

She put her palms to her temples and closed her eyes.

“I’m not saying that because I’m making some sort of compromise -- it isn’t going to make me happy, watching you be unhappy, and I’d much rather see you doing something satisfying to you. At this point I’m starting to think they’re offering you positions where they can hide you away from the public eye.”

“Stop,” she exclaimed. “Stop it, already. Let me think about what I want instead of worrying that you’re turning it into some crusade -- you can take over the galaxy on my behalf after I figure that out, all right?”

He started to slump in his chair, too, and shook his head. “All right. Pause button.”

They both started to laugh, at that, and she thought about how much she enjoyed moments like this -- and it occurred to her that there would be more, once they were freed of being in the same chain of command. That all their moments together could be easy, like this. She wouldn’t have to see him injured, and he wouldn’t have to use a regenerator on her back as often. They would see the children more often. 

But first, the mission. 

Deanna stood up. “I’m late for my class. I’ll see you after the shift.”

He watched her with tired eyes. “I’ll get the kids, then.”

Nodding, she left the ready room, then the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm off til Monday. Have a great weekend.


	6. Chapter 6

Kredis waited for the captain in the observation lounge. Troi arrived first. She was as composed as always, this morning, but her expression was troubled.

“You are attending the talks, I hope,” Kredis said without preamble. He turned from the replicator with his coffee, and gestured at the panel. “Would you like some?”

Troi stared at him -- he supposed the offer would be surprising to her, as he had been largely indifferent and standoffish as he was often accused of being. “Yes, thank you,” she said, recovering quickly. “With cream and sugar.”

“I suspect that you have attended many such events,” he said as the second cup materialized. He turned to hand it to her. 

“Captain Picard is a veteran diplomat. He’s worked with many ambassadors on many treaties.” She sipped her coffee.

“And you are often with him. No doubt empathy is a benefit in such situations.”

Her dark eyes questioned, but she turned to sit down, at her usual place near the head of the table. She was as good at hiding herself as he was, he decided. Sure, there was a friendly and warm facade she wore as if it were a second skin, but he suspected she was a different person at home -- as the admiral had suggested about the captain. 

“You sense something, no doubt, since we are in orbit,” he said, indicating the view port -- outside, the space station they were to visit in just an hour hovered against the backdrop of the gray-green planet, Devaris.

“What I sense at the moment has no bearing on the mission.” She sipped again, put the cup on the table, and folded her hands in front of her. 

The captain arrived a moment later with Worf, and the four of them sat down together. Picard had a padd in hand and looked grim. 

“Something the matter, Captain?” Kredis asked.

“I simply do not like that we are going into their space station. Here are the instructions we have been given.” Picard passed him the padd.

“At least they don’t require you to wear their clothing,” Kredis said, reading down the brief list. “Observing a ritual greeting and sharing a small ceremonial meal to honor their God, that doesn’t sound onerous.”

“We’ve not had good luck with species in this region,” Troi said. “We’ve had seemingly innocuous encounters turn into disasters.

“Has anything changed?” Picard asked, his tone softer. The question was clearly for her.

“Everyone is anxious. The Devarin are afraid. I don’t think it is us. They were afraid before we entered their sensor range.”

“They have inferior sensors,” Worf intoned.

“Scans of the station tell us they are behind in many ways. Their ships are warp four, no more, and their -- “ Picard stared at the padd for a moment. “This is a familiar refrain for us, Worf. We’ve been exploring along the edges of the Beta Quadrant for some time now. The species out here are impoverished. Some of them advanced to the point they became interesting to other species, and then been subsumed into some form of slavery -- it isn’t unusual for a treaty to be offered and then the people find themselves being used like slaves.”

“So they are likely to see us as insincere, based on long experience with such behavior,” Kredis said. “I think we are in a good position to make a difference -- taking your security officer, we will have no less than five different Federation species in the room. Two of which were involved in centuries of conflict with the Federation prior to their inclusion. We are a fairly good example of the difference between the Randra Alliance and the Federation, yes?”

 

Picard smiled, but it wasn’t a particularly hopeful one. “I hope you’re correct.”

“You sound….” Worf was hesitating as if not wanting to offend his old friend. “Pessimistic.”

Troi smiled across the table at the Klingon. “Worf, I don’t believe we’ve told you the story of the last ten years? I suspect it would make a fine Klingon opera.”

“Medical leave is hardly the stuff of opera. You might get some traction with all the battles you’ve fought with the kids,” Picard said, humoring her for once. 

“I suspect that there might be a verse about your valiant triumph over Dr. Mengis, getting him to let you leave sickbay,” Troi said.

“How many Klingon operas are there about pregnancy?” Picard asked, looking quite serious. “Conquering diplomatic missions while pregnant is a worthy battle.”

Worf’s expression of mild disgruntlement was amusing; Kredis fought a smile, thinking it would only make things worse. Worf frowned. “There are three,” he said, quietly.

“We should have him perform one, don’t you think?” Picard said, turning to Troi. 

“Perhaps after we return from the station.”

The door opened, and deLio entered to announce that all was ready -- they began the journey to the transporter room. Troi walked with Worf, following Picard, and Kredis walked behind them with the L’norim at his side. He wondered, as he came up on the transporter pad with them, whether their time with the Devarin would be fruitful or as doomed as the captain seemed to think.

They materialized in a large round room with a domed ceiling. In the center of the room, on a raised dais, stood three Devarin. They were humanoid, as expected, with ridged crenelations on their heads similar to the Klingon skull, though there were four smaller rows of indentations rather than two. Dark gleaming black eyes set in a gray-skinned face stared -- they didn’t seem to have eyelids, until a thin nictitating membrane slid across from the side in a rapid blink. 

The tallest of the three stepped down, held out its scrawny tattooed arms, and greeted them -- the translator worked well enough. The long ceremonial greeting rambled through all the peace and harmony of God, and all the benefits of following God, and the wonder and joy of being with God; Kredis chanced a glance at his companions as the Devarin went on, waving its six-fingered hands vaguely, swaying to and fro as if there were a breeze. 

Troi and the captain were staring -- not at the Devarin, but at the mural on the wall beyond. A depiction of a tall dark creature with what could have been many antennae, or spiky hair, on its head. Large dark eyes and the absence of mouth or chin were the more noticeable features. 

At the conclusion of the greeting, Kredis exchanged a look with Picard, and stepped forward. “We are blessed and humbled by your gracious greetings,” he said, mimicking the arms-wide stance of the Devarin. “I am Woodward Kredis. This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Commander Deanna Troi. Ambassador Worf, of the Klingon Empire. Lieutenant-Commander deLio.”

“Mekilimous,” the Devarin said, bringing his spidery hands to his thin chest. The brown skin of the humanoid appeared to be the texture of leather. “My brothers, Mekinomole, Mekworimen.” Sweeping his arm out to indicate a table on one side of the room, Mekilimous stepped off the dais and led the way, apparently wanting them to follow.

Kredis asked, and received answers to, questions about each step of the ceremony. They all sat down on the floor, on their knees, and went about performing it. As he raised the clay cup to his lips upon Mekinomole giving the signal, he found himself feeling a strange sensation, a tickle along his scalp, as information suddenly appeared in his thoughts -- he knew that Troi was feeding it to him telepathically as she informed him of it even as she gave him the awareness that the God of the Devarin was a powerful telepathic species, genetically engineered by the Randra to control the quadrant, ruling by fear and coercion. She shared their experiences with the K’Korll, and by the end of the sip of bitter root tea he knew why she and Picard had stared at the mural, and why she was now trying not to panic.

At the end of the ritual meal, there was to be -- per the instructions -- a full day of rest. The actual talks would resume thirty-two hours (Starfleet time) after the completion of the final blessing. The three Devarin turned from the table and bowed; one of them uttered a short benediction over their guests. Then Mekilimous waved a hand around and said farewell.

Without delay, Picard tapped his badge, and had them beamed back to the _Enterprise_.

The instant the transporter beam faded, Worf spun, nostrils flaring. “We cannot go back there, if it is true,” he exclaimed. 

“We should reconvene in my quarters,” Picard said. “Discuss this further. I need to contact Admiral Adira. Fifteen minutes, Commander.”

“Come with me, please,” Deanna said, glancing at Kredis and at the Klingon. 

\---------------------

Deanna saw Worf and Kredis to her quarters, and the three of them settled on the sofa silently. 

Finally, after fuming silently since the transporter room, Worf spoke again. “You and the captain have dealt with the K’korll before.”

“Yes. It almost ended the captain’s career. It took him nearly a year to stop having nightmares.” Deanna thought about how much filtering she needed to do -- but when it came to the K’korll, it took little to decide that more information was more important than their sense of privacy. “That was before I started being able to heal others. They are extremely strong telepaths. If they are actively suppressing a system, their influence quickly overtakes the population of any planet -- they create chaos and fear and confusion that overwhelms anyone before they understand what’s happening. You likely have not heard, but a dozen K’korll attempted to take over Cardassia and nearly succeeded.”

Kredis tilted his head, curious. “You are saying that they did not succeed -- the information you provided indicated they are extremely powerful and almost unstoppable. How were they prevented -- and more importantly, are we able to do the same? Because I would suppose that a painting indicates these are flesh-and-blood gods that the Devarin has seen before, and may see again soon.”

“I was able to guide another officer to them, in time to kill them before they overwhelmed me. Some of us are more resistant to their influence than others.” Deanna sighed, and tried to relax -- the anxiety was starting to make her nauseous. “I don’t sense them near us. I would be able to, if they were in the system.”

It startled Kredis. “Most Betazoids don’t have that broad a range, do they?”

“The commander is not most Betazoids,” Worf said. “Do you think that we should abandon the talks?”

Deanna sighed and shook her head. “I suspect the admiral will want us to stay, gather information, make the attempt anyhow -- but the Prime Directive prevents us from directly addressing the Devarin about the K’korll. If we give them the truth it either has no effect, which is more likely, or it alters their culture forever.”

“What is Starfleet Command’s general order regarding the K’korll?”

Kredis had been working with Starfleet for a long time, obviously. Deanna gave him a subdued smile. “Given what we know about them, and the fact that they are behaving much as the Jem’hadar do, without deviation from their genetic programming -- generally, we disable or destroy them as quickly as possible to remain free of their influence. They are able to install themselves within one of us -- they did so with the captain, causing a great deal of damage to his mind.”

The door opened while she spoke, and Jean-Luc returned, coming to sit with her on the end of the couch. “Fleet Admiral Adira is concerned, of course, and is ordering the _Potemkin_ to join us. Elisabeth will be here within half an hour.”

Transwarp simplified things significantly. Deanna looked him in the eye, and he gave her the rest of the conversation with Adira. As she suspected, they were asked to gather information -- Adira understood that the likelihood of establishing a real treaty with a species controlled by the K’korll was minimal. 

“The Prime Directive should not apply,” Worf said. It turned everyone’s head. Worf sat stiffly upright, his chin coming up. “This species are enslaved by a force that has enslaved many worlds. They are helpless. All species controlled by these K’korll are helpless. Certainly they would thank us for freeing them from slavery.”

“I understand what you mean, Worf, but this species has worshipped them for many generations,” Jean-Luc said. “Direct intervention with the Devarin should be avoided. I am not opposed to removing any K’korll we find, but confronting these people is not within our purview.”

“We would be at risk of setting ourselves up as gods,” Deanna added. “Their evolution should be allowed to occur naturally -- removing the K’korll and allowing that to happen would be more in keeping with the Prime Directive, and would preserve our borders into the bargain. If we do negotiate an agreement between the Klingons and the Devarin, the K’korll will no doubt supercede it with their own orders -- living gods will want to avoid their worshippers being allied with non believers, as it can erode faith.”

“Do you sense anything suggesting that the Devarin are not the only ones here?” 

Deanna had been actively scanning, reaching, trying to be as alert and aware as she could manage, and it was starting to wear on her. “I don’t sense Asili, or Sisnok. I don’t sense anything I have encountered before. But I will suggest that Elisabeth drop out of transwarp early, to plant a network of sensor probes around the system -- we know that the Devarin have limited sensors and don’t have the ability to detect such measures. Better to have an early warning, as we know.”

“I see you have indeed had much experience with this,” Worf said. 

Jean-Luc gave him a brittle, amused smirk. “That would be an understatement, Worf. But you can anticipate we are going to be surprised along the way, as it’s never so straightforward as it appears with the remnants of the Randra Alliance.”

“And we still have the wild card of the ship that came from the wormhole,” Deanna added. 

“But you would recognize Jem’hadar, or the other Gamma Quadrant species we faced during the war.” Jean-Luc crossed his arms and thought about it for a moment. “Changelings were never telepathic, never showed the ability, did they?”

“You think the changelings have reversed their stance -- that they may be actively attempting to conquer again?” Deanna thought about it. “It might be possible for a changeling to learn enough about the brain structure necessary for telepathic ability to develop it, and to practice it. But I’ve never heard anything to suggest they had ever done so.”

Jean-Luc went quiet, and Worf sat solemnly staring at him. Kredis was staring at the floor. He was the first one to speak. “The Changelings may have received information about the K’korll, and may not like the idea of a species that could challenge them for dominance in the galaxy. They may be collecting information in order to address the matter themselves. It would not be unlike them, after all, to merely be waiting, biding their time, until the circumstances in the Alpha and Gamma quadrants shift to suit them and they rise once more to attempt complete control. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are attempting just what the commander suggests -- if they were able to mimic the K’korll they would not need foot soldiers, they would not need anything at all. Then there is this -- not having the neurology of solids, they may in fact be immune to the K’korll and able to capture them. If they were able to use them as the Randra did, they would not need to mimic them at all.”

Deanna’s nausea was joined by a slight headache. “The Founders controlling a tool of the Randra, across the quadrant, would be unstoppable.”

“We need to find a way to nullify the K’korll,” Jean-Luc said softly, meeting her gaze. He was thinking about what they had been told -- what their son, the older version of Yves from the future, had said, that they would find just that -- a way of disarming or resisting the influence of the K’korll. It was time, he thought.

Deanna nodded. “I’m going to talk to Dr. Mengis,” she said, rising to head for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preparing to be out of state for a week - so updates will be less frequent. But edging toward the climax of the story....


End file.
